


The Gentleman and the Rogue: A Boosh Regency Romance

by A_Little_Boosh_Maid



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Accidents, Alternate Universe - Regency, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Archaeology, Bad Poetry, Ballroom Dancing, Bottom Howard, Boys Kissing, Break Up Talk, Clothes Porn, Consent Issues, Crossdressing, Dating, Dogs, Eloping, Family Secrets, Fated meetings, First Time, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Frottage, Gossip, Grieving, Happy Ending, Hate Wank, Historical Lube, Horses, Hurt/Comfort, Literature, M/M, Mad Dad - Freeform, Masturbation, Medicinal Drug Use, Minor Character Death, Missing mother, Mutual Masturbation, Mysteries, Nobility, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Past Character Death, Past Domestic Abuse, Poetry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostate Massage, Regency Romance, Reunions, Sad Backstory, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Servants, Sexual Confusion, Sexual Harassment, Shamans, Shopping, Sleepy Cuddles, Stately Homes, Theatre, Threats of Violence, Travel, badass mothers, boy next door, childhood bullying, injuries, mild body horror, scandals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 55,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24653506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid/pseuds/A_Little_Boosh_Maid
Summary: Lord Moon is something of a lone wolf, content to shun society for the comfort of his own estate in Yorkshire. However, his godmother insists that he come up to London in search of a suitable wife. Here he meets the fascinating and mysterious Baron Noir of Camden, around whom swirls a constant stream of innuendo and gossip. Is Lord Noir a rake, a rogue, or a rascal, and can Lord Moon ever trust his heart to the "Wicked Baron"?
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 112
Kudos: 34





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BobSkeleton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobSkeleton/gifts).



It all began with this photo of a young Julian and Noel on Tumblr, which I identified as looking like the cover of a Regency Romance novel. From this flippant comment, BobSkeleton was inspired to write their Regency Romance, "[The Remarkable Destiny of Marquis Noir](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23597677/chapters/56623654)". 

Now much later, following in those exquisite footsteps in my horrible Crocs, I present my own work, a fumbling love letter both to Baby Boosh and to Bob's story. It's a little bit of a swap-around from Bob's Regency Romance, because I liked the idea of Howard being cast in the role of shy, innocent damsel to Vince's cocky bad boy.

I began by ~~ripping off~~ basing my story on the classic 1950s Regency Romance, Georgette Heyer's _Venetia_. But then I tossed in a few other ideas, mostly thought of by reading the blurbs on a whole bunch of Regency Romances because I was too ~~lazy~~ time-poor to read them all.

I have done _some_ research on Regency England, but let's be honest, this is probably going to be riddled with errors and anachronisms. I have received a little bit of solace from reading advice written by Regency Romance novelists and noticing it sometimes conflicts with what actually happened in real life. So even experts occasionally get it slightly wrong, or joyfully embrace their own reality. Think of it as an alternate Regency period. And really, all Regency Romances take place in an alternate Regency period. Even Jane Austen's - and she actually _lived_ in that era. 

Thank you to BobSkeleton for the mutual inspiration, and I hope you all enjoy my first (and probably only) foray into Regency Romance writing.


	2. Lady Augusta Insists on a Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Moon has little interest in society, but his godmother has plans for him. She embarks him on a London season, determined to find him a wife.

Lord Moon was a shy and retiring man who found society rather fatiguing. Left to his own devices, he would have eschewed the London season to potter around his estate in Yorkshire, or sequester himself in its cosy library for hours at a time.

However, he wasn't left to his own devices nearly as often as he would have liked, because his godmother, Lady Augusta Howard, thought it was bad for him. As Lord Moon's mother had died when he was only a few months old, Lady Augusta believed it was her duty to fulfil that role in Lord Moon's life. Living so close to her godson, she was a frequent, if uninvited, visitor to Harthill Park, where she dispensed advice on an almost daily basis.

"Really, Howard", she said (for Lord Moon had been partially named after her), "you bury yourself in the country all year round. You'll end up as your father did".

"What, dead?".

"No, considered .... strange", she said, sipping the tea that had been bestowed on her. "It's time I winkled you out so you can accompany me up to town. You never seem to think _I_ might enjoy the season, and I need a gentleman to escort me".

Lord Moon would not have minded this so much, except that Lady Augusta also wanted him to meet ladies with a view to marrying them.

"After all, Howard, you're nearly thirty now", his godmother pointed out.

"I just turned twenty-six".

"Exactly. High time you had a wife and family, an heir to your fortune. Bookish and eccentric as you are, your name and prospects are enough to attract someone, if you would only put in the tiniest amount of effort".

“I can't see what I have to offer, Lady Augusta”, said Lord Moon with a show of great gloom.

“You're a viscount”.

“Not a real one”, said Lord Moon, as if determined to tease his godmother into a temper.

“Don't be ridiculous, Howard”, snapped Lady Augusta. “Everyone knows you are heir to the Earldom of Selby, and your grandfather cannot live for many more years”.

“Who knew that an ageing grandfather was such a source of fascination to ladies?”, said Lord Moon to himself.

“You are quite capable of attracting a wife, Howard”, said Lady Augusta with a note of finality. “I shall find one at the necessary amount of … of … extremity”.

That statement did not bode well, and before too long, Lord Moon was informed that Lady Augusta wished him to marry a young lady named Susanna Denham, the granddaughter of one of Lady Augusta's friends. Lady Augusta introduced them at the Royal Academy of Art's annual exhibition, in front of a painting depicting _The Death of Adonis_ , where the subject seemed to be suffering from a severe attack of indigestion.

Unfortunately, at the very moment of introduction, Lord Moon was distracted by a profile just out of his range of vision. A milk white face. Brilliant blue eyes. Long dark hair. There was a nebulous yet potent impression of someone quite out of the ordinary, and then the half-seen face moved on, to be lost in the crowd.

"Charmed to meet you, Miss Debenham", Lord Moon said vaguely as he bowed in return, trying to look for the face from the corner of his eye.

" _Denham_ ", Lady Augusta hissed at him, _sotto voce_.

"Forgive me, Miss Denham", Lord Moon corrected himself, looking at her for the first time.

To Lord Moon's surprise, Miss Denham was very pretty, with golden ringlets, a rose leaf complexion, and hazel-green eyes. She was barely eighteen, and just out, embarked on her first season in sprigged muslin. Lord Moon was cynical enough to think that she must be absolutely penniless if they were trying to palm her off on him.

Taking note of Lady Augusta's increasingly meaningful glares, Lord Moon suggested that Miss Denham might like to join him that evening. Miss Denham looked at her mother with appeal, as if wishing this to be countermanded, but a smiling Mrs Denham said that Susanna would be delighted to see Lord Moon.

"At the .... Royal Menagerie at Exeter 'Change?", Lord Moon said, gaining sudden inspiration from a painting of wild lions. "Feeding time is at nine o'clock in the evening".

He could see a huge painting of the Battle of Waterloo coming up, and unable to face it, he abruptly left his godmother and her friends, his complexion pallid, his fingers wringing his wrists until they had cruel burn marks around them.

But all the time he thought of the face which he had almost seen, which had flowered and faded on the edge of his vision. These faces we almost see in a crowd can haunt us until our dying day, and Lord Moon was looking more haunted than usual.

**Picture shows the Great Room at the Royal Academy of Art's exhibition,**

**from Thomas Rowlandson's _Microcosm of London_ (1808-10)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord Moon is the heir to the (fictional) Earldom of Selby – Selby is not far from Leeds in Yorkshire. His father's death has left him next in line, and he is an only child. As the heir, he is entitled to use a courtesy title given to him by the Earl, which is why Howard jokes that he's not a “real” viscount. Viscount Moon uses his surname as his title, which means the Earl does not have a particular title that could be used. 
> 
> Lady Augusta Howard is the daughter of a titled gentleman, a lady in her own right, and unmarried. If she was married and her title came from her husband, she would be Augusta, Lady Howard. The Howards are one of Britain's oldest noble families, and from one branch descend the Dukes of Norfolk. I think Lady Augusta is related to the Carlisle branch of the family, who own Castle Howard in North Yorkshire. 
> 
> Harthill Park, Howard's family home he inherited from his father, is possibly located near the village of Harthill, between Sheffield and Nottingham in South Yorkshire, and on the border with Derbyshire. It is the traditional resting place of the Dukes of Leeds.
> 
> The London season more or less began after Easter, and would be under way by May. The story begins in early May (Howard has just had his birthday), and we can assume it is probably late May by the end.
> 
> The Royal Academy of Art was at this time located at Somerset House in The Strand, it's now at Burlington House in Piccadilly. Its Summer Exhibition, opening in May, once served as an unofficial marker for the opening of the London season. It is still a major event on the London social calendar, although it is now a bit later in the year, beginning in June. The paintings are real paintings from Royal Academy exhibitions around this period, but not all from the same year.
> 
> The god Adonis is said to have been gored to death by a wild boar. The painting presumably shows him clutching at his side in agony, but with little noticeable blood. 
> 
> There was a draper named Clark and Debenham in Wigmore Street (it later became Debenhams department store). I suspect a distracted Howard calls Susanna “Miss Debenham” because his godmother forced him to go shopping with her that morning. It's possibly also a snobbish Freudian slip – Howard assumes that Susanna's father is in some sort of trade, making her less desirable as a marriage partner, or that he sees the search for a wife as a mercenary transaction.
> 
> The Battle of Waterloo took place in June 1815. The French forces led by Napoleon were defeated by a British-led coalition under the command of the Duke of Wellington. Napoleon abdicated after the battle. The story must take place some time after the battle, and it is perhaps 1818 or so, towards the end of the Regency period.


	3. Lord Moon Meets a Man at the Menagerie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Moon takes Miss Denham to the Royal Menagerie, where he encounters a most unusual young man.

That evening Lord Moon escorted Miss Denham around the Royal Menagerie at the Exeter Exchange, with Lady Augusta as chaperon. He had paid double entry for all of them, so that they could watch the animals be fed. There were three large interconnected rooms, with cages for the wild animals all around the walls.

"I do not believe this to be at all suitable for young ladies", Lady Augusta said severely. "I really wonder how you come up with these ideas, Howard".

At this point, one of the lions roared right near them, and Miss Denham gave a little scream, unconsciously clutching at Lord Moon's arm.

"It's all right, ladies. You are perfectly safe with me, should you only stand back a little from the cages", said Lord Moon, rather enjoying his role of grand protector.

For once he felt that he was in a situation where he had the advantage over ladies present. Most social situations seemed deliberately engineered to give ladies the advantage, he thought.

"And the _odour_!", continued Lady Augusta as if Howard had not spoken. "It is quite overpowering". She raised a handkerchief drenched in lavender water to her nostrils, and breathed deeply.

"Simply a healthy animal smell, no better or worse than that of a horse or dog”, Lord Moon said breezily.

There was then the sound of a frightened horse in the street shrieking at the menagerie, and bolting with its carriage.

“There, you see Howard? Even a horse can tell you it doesn't smell like this!”, retorted Lady Augusta triumphantly. “Pray, take care of Miss Denham. She looks quite undone by this experience”.

“Miss Denham? Would you not look at the panthers?”, entreated Lord Moon. “They are beautiful creatures, don't you think?.

“I've two black cats at home just like them”, said Miss Denham, peering into the cage where the panthers were being fed. “Called Midnight and Coal”.

Emboldened, Lord Moon went on to show Miss Denham the quagga and the zebra, pointed out how kind and gentle the Arab zookeepers were with the beasts, and demonstrated how the Indian elephant could take a coin from his hand, using only its prodigious nose.

“The hippopotamus is very droll-looking animal”, said Lord Moon. “Its name is from the Greek for _river horse_ , and it could once be found as far north in Africa as the Nile. I believe this one was taken from the Congo River”.

“You know a lot about wild animals, Lord Moon”, Miss Denham said. “Have you travelled much to study them?”.

“Not personally”, said Lord Moon. “But I've read books on zoology, and my friend, Sir Dixon Bainbridge, is an expert in the field. He's giving a lecture on his travels at the Royal Institution next week, if you would care to join me?”.

Miss Denham gave a horrified look at Lady Augusta, who came to her rescue.

“Now, Howard. Young ladies don't want to go to lectures”, she admonished him. “Miss Denham isn't a bluestocking, but is up from the country to enjoy the pleasures of London”.

Lord Moon felt a sudden disgust at having pretty young ladies dangled at him, in the hope he might like to marry one of them. He tried to be fair, and thought it must also be rather depressing for the young ladies to be dangled at men of wealth, because they had no other option in life than to marry as well as they possibly could.

He turned away from Lady Augusta and Miss Denham, just as a great hullabaloo came in from the street, and up the stairs. Within a few minutes there was a bizarre entourage in the menagerie with them – more brightly coloured than the parrots, chattering louder than the monkeys, and more dangerous than any other animal present, Lord Moon thought to himself.

They were elegant young men, fops and dandies, rather worse for drink, and the women were what Lord Moon could only identify as some sort of muslin sisterhood. He averted his eyes from them, and tried to shield Lady Augusta and Miss Denham from the stares of the men.

Lord Moon's gaze was drawn to the young man who this group seemed to giddily revolve around. Of moderate height, he was as slender as a girl. Both dandy and fop, he was dressed in skin-tight black buckskins, tasselled Hessian boots, a top hat, green coat, and a soft linen blouse covered by a rose-pink silk waistcoat, so heavily embroidered with silver thread that it seemed to glitter and shine from a distance.

While his entourage screeched with laughter and made fun of everything they saw, the young man went straight to the leopard cage, where he addressed that creature like a friend, and appeared to be in serious conversation with it. He turned slightly to take note of Lord Moon and Miss Denham, and Lord Moon realised with a shock that _this_ was the face in the crowd he had almost seen at the exhibition.

The same bright blue eyes, in the same white face, framed by the same dark hair, which hung loose to his shoulders in two wings. The young man's nose was larger than Lord Moon had realised, his chin pointier, his cheekbones higher, his lips softer and pulled into a smile. It was an odd, mesmerising, and extremely beautiful face – the most beautiful that Lord Moon had ever seen.

Lord Moon became gradually aware that he was staring at the man, positively gaping, and inwardly chided himself for his own rudeness. Yet somehow he was not able to look away.

The young man seemed to take in every detail of Lord Moon and Miss Denham in one swift glance from top to toe. When he spoke, his voice came as a shock, for he did not speak as a gentleman, and furthermore, his words were insolent.

“Hi now, you're tasty. You have tiny little eyes and hair made of wool like the child of a wolf”, he said, before adding, “Do you like jaggers? I come here just to see them. I love jaggers”.

Lord Moon found himself trembling, more especially because he could not tell whether the young man had spoken to him, or to Miss Denham. He almost thought that the first part, at least, had been directed at him.

“Do you _know_ that man, Howard?”, asked a furious Lady Augusta.

“Not at all”, said Lord Moon, affecting a calm unconcern. “I don't know who he is, and I never saw him before in my life. I hope he didn't frighten you, Miss Denham”.

“Never have anything to do with him again, either of you!”, Lady Augusta ordered. “He is impertinent, apes his betters, and I wouldn't be surprised if he was foreign. I must insist we leave this place, Howard. It was ill-considered, and I hope you are more careful in the future”.

****************************************

That night, Susanna wrote to her best friend, Delia.

_Dearest Dee,_

_How I wish you were with me in London, it is too bad of your mama to say that you are not old enough to come out at seventeen! Fie, I have seen girls of sixteen and even fifteen make their first season here. Do not worry - I have my own Mary send all my letters, so you may feel safe that nobody has read this but you._

_Everything is so dreary without you, I haven't met anyone at all interesting, or had any nice compliments. I have not yet seen my ideal \- you know what I mean. Mama wants me to marry a man named Lord Moon, but oh, my dear! He is a perfect quiz, and actually asked me to attend a lecture. Even that awful Lady Augusta could see what a ninnyhammer he was to suggest it._

_However, he did take us to the Royal Menagerie, where we saw the most fascinating man. As pretty as a girl, but as bold and saucy a boy as ever did live! I do believe he is the sort of man that you most like, dearest Dee, and if you were here, I would be busy making plans as to how you could meet him …_

*******************************************

Lord Moon did not commit his observations to paper this night, so unfortunately I cannot tell you what were his feelings about the evening. I do know that he didn't sleep well, and spent some time tossing and turning before he got off.

**The Royal Menagerie at the Exeter Exchange, from _Ackerman's Repository_ (1812)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Royal Menagerie was founded in 1773, and took up three upper rooms at the Exeter Exchange, often just called the Exeter 'Change, an upmarket shopping arcade on the north side of the Strand (now the Strand Palace Hotel). The exotic animals on display were a great drawcard, and often visited by fashionable people – the entry price was set so that only the wealthy could afford it. The most popular time of day was feeding time, which cost double. Howard would have paid two shillings per person to get in, about ten pounds in today's money.
> 
> The Menagerie was a popular activity for “date nights”, as girls might scream or swoon into their escorts' arms. Howard has chosen a rather sexy evening activity for himself and Miss Denham – I think innocently. Lady Augusta is technically not a suitable chaperon as she has never been married, however in real life people had to take what they could get, and a mature-aged aristocratic spinster is well enough for a simple country girl like Miss Denham. Horses did sometimes go mad and bolt near the Royal Menagerie if they heard the animals. 
> 
> I think Howard is mostly deluded about social events being set up to give women the advantage over men, and says a lot about how socially awkward he is. Men were expected to be chivalrous to women in public and treat them as their superiors – this was to slightly make up for the fact that women had almost no real power at all. 
> 
> The panthers are probably black jaguars. Quaggas were an African plains horse with a striped rear like a zebra (now extinct); scientists now believe they were a sub-species of the zebra. I got most of my information on the animals and Arab zookeepers from a 1813 diary entry by Lord Byron.
> 
> The London season wasn't all about dances and parties – June was absolutely packed with free lectures people could go to, and they were extremely popular in the 18th and early 19th century, despite being often two hours long and at times, very dry. They were treated with great reverence, like a secular church service.
> 
> Dandies were followers of Beau Brummell. Brummell's fashion sense was classic and restrained, although the dandies often took it to extremes. The fops were, if anything, even more excited by fashion, but tended to go for more florid, effeminate clothing and shoes, and were constantly trying to set new fashions, sometimes with outrageously over the top ideas. 
> 
> Buckskins were leather breeches made from soft deer skin. These ones must be dyed, since buckskin is naturally a tan colour. Hessian boots were knee-length light leather riding boots with a decorative tassel on the top, which became very popular as men's footwear. They gradually evolved into cowboy boots. Vince seems to be wearing a dandy's costume with foppish overtones. 
> 
> Vince's opening words to Howard echo the lyrics to "Married on the Morrow".
> 
> Vince is almost breathtakingly rude in this chapter. It was a great breach of protocol to speak to someone you hadn't been formally introduced to, let alone to speak to them so familiarly. “Hi” wasn't a greeting in the Regency, but something said or shouted to gain attention, a bit like “Hey, you!”. Furthermore, you weren't meant to comment on anyone's appearance, either positively or negatively, unless you were in private and knew them extremely well. No wonder Lady Augusta hits the roof, and Howard quite correctly ignores Vince (pretty much the harshest thing you could do to someone in Regency society).
> 
> There was no particular rule as to when a girl came out in society, and it was up to her parents to decide when she would enter the marriage market. Some were held back if their older sister wasn't married, some in the hope that they might grow out of a particular flaw or awkwardness in the intervening year, some by the family's finances (a London season was expensive). Delia's mother isn't being in any way harsh or unfair by wanting her to be eighteen before she meets prospective husbands.
> 
> SLANG  
> bluestocking: intellectual woman, often derogatory  
> muslin sisterhood: women who accept payment for sex, not necessarily prostitutes by profession.  
> tasty: attractive or tastefully presented, it didn't have the sexual connotations then that it does now.  
> jaggers: jaguars.  
> fie: expression of outrage or disgust.  
> quiz: weirdo, dork.  
> ninnyhammer: foolish person.


	4. Lord Moon Receives Various Recommendations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the wishes of Lady Augusta, Lord Moon finds himself running into the strange young man again, and even discovers who he is. Poetry ensues.

It was all for very well for Lady Augusta to insist that Lord Moon have nothing to do with the strange young man he'd seen at the Royal Menagerie. The trouble was he kept running into him.

Just two days later, Lord Moon had gone to Truefitt's to have his hair cut, and lo and behold, who should be there but the young man, dressed in bright yellow breeches and a silver grey waistcoat. Lord Moon correctly ignored him, but the young man called out cheerily, "Good morning, Howard! Have fun the other night?".

Not wanting to cause a scandal, Lord Moon gave the barest nod in acknowledgement, and sat down to where Mr William Truefitt gestured to him, but that was enough. He and the young man were now acquaintances, at the very least.

“Just a trim and a wash, Truefitt”, Lord Moon said, but the young man interjected at once.

“Oh, do have a Cherubin, Howard”, he begged. “It would suit you so well”.

Lord Moon gave a startled glance up at Mr Truefitt, who said, “I believe that style would suit my lord better than any other, if he cares to try it. Your valet could easily keep it in order, my lord”.

“Oh yes, Truefitt, please!”, the young man exclaimed, until Lord Moon felt he had no choice but to assent. Lord Moon was startled to hear Mr Truefitt address the young man as “my lord”, with a deep bow.

“And what of your own hair?”, Lord Moon said coldly to the young man. “It seems designed for a lady's maid to keep rather than a valet”.

“It's poetic”, said the young man with complete self-satisfaction. “Like John Keats. Romantic and that”.

“Who is John Keats?”, asked Lord Moon suspiciously.

“Don't you know him? Oh … he's the most wonderful poet”, said the young man enthusiastically. “Do you like poetry, Howard?”.

“Indeed I do”, said Lord Moon warmly. “Shakespeare and Milton are among my favourites. Also Edmund Spenser, John Dryden, Philip Sydney, John Donne, Ben Jonson, Wordsworth, and Blake”.

“Oh well, if you like poetry, you'll love Keats”, said the young man. “I'll lend you my copy”.

They talked easily about poetry while Mr Peter Truefitt clipped and washed the young man's luxuriant dark hair, and then Mr William Truefitt carefully shaved Lord Moon.

“Cologne, my lord?”, asked Mr Truefitt.

“Spanish Leather, if you please”, Lord Moon requested.

Mr Truefitt reverently laid the cologne against Lord Moon's freshly-shaven cheeks.

As he got up to leave, carelessly thanking Mr Peter Truefitt, the young man came over to closely examine Lord Moon, and pronounced himself very pleased with the results.

“But what's this on your top lip, Howard?”, asked the young man with the hint off a giggle. “It looks like you've been drinking coffee and left some around your mouth”.

“How dare you, sir?”, Lord Moon replied, with some genuine feeling. “I am growing a moustache, and if anything, it looks like rich chocolate”.

“Nobody wears moustaches any more”, the young man said. “You'll look so old-fashioned, Howard”. He sounded almost awed at the idea.

“I am not carried on the tides of fashion”, said Lord Moon pompously. “I shall make my own style”.

The young man seemed quite taken by this idea, but still teased, “Yes, because no one else wants it. Goodbye, Howard. Until the next time”.

He shot Howard an insolent grin, and spun on his heels out of the barber's shop. Lord Moon tore his eyes away from the posterior view of the tight yellow breeches' exit, and approached Mr Peter Truefitt diffidently.

“Er, he … that is to say …”.

“A most amusing young man, my lord”, smiled Mr Peter Truefitt. “My brother William and I always enjoy his visits”.

“But … I mean … he is … he is”, stuttered Lord Moon helplessly.

“Baron Noir of Camden”, said Mr Peter Truefitt, helping him out. “That was what you were trying to say, my lord?”.

“Yes, thank you, Truefitt”, said Lord Moon, thrusting some money discreetly at Mr Peter Truefitt, feeling blushingly like one of those low gentlemen who will bribe a servant to find out a particular lady's identity so he can pursue her.

****************************************

Lord Moon next went to Westons on Old Bond Street to order new coats, linen shirts, and waistcoats, and found Baron Noir there as well.

“Howard!”, Lord Noir yelped happily. “You're here!”. As if he'd been waiting to see Lord Moon again.

“I feel as if you are following me about”, grumbled Lord Moon, but without rancour.

“Clever of me to do that by arriving first”, grinned Lord Noir. “Are you quite sure it's not you following me?”.

Lord Moon flushed, denied it strenuously to himself, and then wondered … Had some part of him, some deep, devilishly cunning part, thought that the dandyfied Lord Noir might be found in places like barber shops and tailors?

There was little time for him to examine and judge his own conscience though, for he had to select the fabrics for his new wardrobe, then he joined Lord Noir at the button counter.

“Howard, what do you think of the mother of pearl?”, Lord Noir asked, holding up an example with a critical look.

“On my coat?”, Lord Moon asked in disbelief.

“Nah, on your white evening waistcoats”, said Lord Noir.

“I was thinking ivory”, said Lord Moon doubtfully.

“No, but consider this, Howard. Pearly and mysterious like the Moon, like you”, Lord Noir suggested.

“Yes, all right”, Lord Moon said after a moment's thought. “And perhaps on your yellow waistcoats, some jet buttons”.

Lord Moon bent forward to look at the buttons, unconsciously leaning on the shorter man's shoulder to do so. He felt Lord Noir give way under him - he hadn't flinched, or shrunk away from Lord Moon's touch, but had relaxed under it to take his weight.

 _Like a lover_ , whispered a voice in Lord Moon's head. This voice had only taken up residence at the Royal Art Exhibition, and had given Lord Moon sleepless nights and uncomfortable days.

Quickly, he grabbed some small jet buttons and took his weight off Lord Noir's shoulder.

“You see, black and shiny like you. Er, like your hair. And your, um, name”, said Lord Moon bashfully, letting slip that he had found out who Lord Noir was. His face was flushed pink, and his new haircut already looked tousled.

Lord Noir gave a grin, and said, “You're a button genius, Howard. I think I _will_ get jet buttons for my yellow waistcoats. I'll look like a wasp”.

Lord Moon took his buttons over to add to the cloth he had selected: gold buttons for his blue coat, ivory buttons for his white shirts, mother of pearl buttons for his white waistcoats.

“I'll need it all made up and delivered to 13 Park Place within a week”, he ordered.

****************************************

After his shopping expedition, Lord Moon wandered up Piccadilly and asked at Hatchards if they had any works by John Keats. He felt mildly annoyed that they didn't, and almost wondered if Lord Noir had hoaxed him.

Taking his watch from its pocket to examine the face, he walked to Soho Square to pay a visit to Lady Augusta at one of her family's many London residences. The neighbourhood had once been very fashionable, but had begun to be the resort of artists and musicians – there had even been a brothel next door a few years ago. But Lady Augusta was set in her ways, and if it had been genteel when she was a girl, that was good enough for her. Her brown brick house with white trim was so neat that Lord Moon quailed a little as he rang the bell.

To his consternation, the maid said that Lady Augusta was engaged at present, but he could step through and see Mrs Denham. He hadn't realised the Denhams were actually lodging with Lady Augusta for the season, and not for the first time, felt a pang of sympathy for Miss Denham.

Mrs Denham greeted him cheerfully, and Miss Denham said, “Good morning, Lord Moon. We did not expect you this day”.

“I thought I'd pop in and see Lady Augusta”, said Lord Moon. “And how pleasant that you're both here too, Miss Denham”.

“Susanna, why don't you play the pianoforte for Lord Moon?”, her mother asked.

Susanna gave her mother a disgusted look, but obediently went to the pianoforte, and played one of the songs from _Love in a Village_ , accompanying the instrument with her own voice.

“That is excellently done, Miss Denham”, Lord Moon said at the end. “You have a light style of play, and a very natural singing voice”.

“Her new singing master is pleased with her progress”, Mrs Denham agreed. “But Susanna is a very accomplished girl. Susanna, pray show Lord Moon the embroidery you are working on”.

Susanna displayed her embroidery-in-progress with every show of reluctance, and Lord Moon said gently, “I am afraid I know very little about the feminine art forms, Miss Denham. But I love flowers, and your embroidery is filled with them”.

“You must have a lovely flower garden on your estate”, guessed Mrs Denham.

“A perfect wilderness of flowers”, said Lord Moon. “They grow in beds and in the orchard and wherever they will”.

“A wilderness of flowers! Why, that sounds just like a line of poetry”, marvelled Mrs Denham. “Do you care for poetry, Lord Moon?”.

“Very much so”, said Lord Moon. “Miss Denham, do you know of the poet John Keats?”.

“I once had to learn a great screed of poetry in the nursery, and that put me off it forever”, said Miss Denham decidedly. “All about how A was an apple pie”.

Lord Moon laughed in appreciation, and Mrs Denham said, “She's being very silly, Lord Moon. Susanna loves reading, and faith, the amount of times I've scolded her for having her head stuck in a book”.

“What was the last book you read, Miss Denham?”, asked Lord Moon.

“ _Evelina_ , by Miss Burney, you know”, Miss Denham replied. “What book do you currently read, Lord Moon?”.

“Oh, one by a German philosopher named Schopenhauer about how we perceive colour”, said Lord Moon. “I expect it would seem very dry reading to most people”.

“I thought we saw colours with our eyes”, said Miss Denham pertly. “That's how _I_ see them, anyway”.

Lord Moon smiled, and then Lady Augusta entered the room. She was very pleased with her godson for calling on Miss Denham, and she could see they were conversing together. Furthermore, Howard had even had his hair cut and styled into something approaching fashion, which suggested he was finally putting in an effort to finding a wife. She was in an uncommonly good mood because of this, but alas, Lord Moon said that he must be going home, and that he'd stayed ages longer than he meant.

“The delightful company, you know”, he said gallantly. “I so rarely spend time with ladies”.

Lady Augusta and Mrs Denham beamed at him, and Miss Denham looked slightly cast down, as Lord Moon collected his hat from the maid and left.

****************************************

When Lord Moon got home, the butler greeted him, and added, “A parcel has arrived for you, my lord. Is there a message to be sent?”.

“No, that's quite alright, Barley”, said Lord Moon, taking the small parcel wrapped in brown paper into his study. Inside he found two books by John Keats: _Poems_ , and _Endymion_. He sat down in his big comfortable chair, and opened the first volume. He noticed that one of the poems was marked with a light pencil mark, and read it more closely.

_O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,_  
_Let it not be among the jumbled heap_  
_Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—_  
_Nature’s observatory—whence the dell,_  
_Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,_  
_May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep_  
_’Mongst boughs pavillion’d, where the deer’s swift leap_  
_Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell._  
_But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,_  
_Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,_  
_Whose words are images of thoughts refin’d,_  
_Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be_  
_Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,_  
_When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee._

He liked it, there was much that resonated with him, but it was odd. Addressed to Solitude, and yet right in the last line it said that greater than Solitude was to have a kindred spirit beside one. Lord Moon had always been happy to be alone, to enjoy nature and his own company. Was it true that he would be happier still to share the beauty of the world with another?

After flipping through _Poems_ , he opened _Endymion_ , and read its now famous first lines.

_A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:_  
_Its loveliness increases; it will never_  
_Pass into nothingness_

So he read the strange, hypnotic tale of a handsome young shepherd who was so loved by the Moon that she put him into a deep trance. And in the shadow world of dreams did the shepherd and the Moon find love together, not in the mortal world.

A handsome boy in love with the Moon, longing for the Moon, enamoured of the Moon's beauty – it seemed like a riddle he could not work out. What exactly was the poet driving at? Lord Moon could understand German philosophy easily enough, but found some poetry rather more obscure.

**South-west corner of Soho Square, from John B. Papworth's _Select Views_**

**_of London_ (1816). Note the farm animals driven into the square - even as**

**late as 1840, Soho Square was considered semi-rural.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> William Truefitt was a barber who opened in 1805, and in this period had a shop at 40 Old Bond Street, where his only employee was his brother, Peter. He was wig maker to the king, and his client list were all from the aristocracy. The oldest barbershop in the world, Truefitt & Hill is now at 71 James Street, and still under Royal Warrant. Their former premises is now home to Cartier.
> 
> Cherubin was a fashionable Regency hairstyle for men, with masses of short natural curls all over the head. Curly hair for men was in style, making this a good era for Howard. 
> 
> Some portraits of John Keats in this era show him with long dark hair to his shoulders, slightly eccentric at a time when short hair for men was the rule.
> 
> Spanish Leather cologne dates to 1814 and is still made by Truefitt & Hill. It is described as "ultra masculine" and “a rich, but subtle blend, with top notes of Fruit, Bergamot, Orange and Pimento, with a heart of Carnation, Cinnamon, Patchouli, Rose, Orris and woody notes, all resting on a base of Amber, Moss and Musk, Vanilla and Tonka.” 
> 
> Vince's title is similar to Lord Byron's, who was Baron Byron of Rochedale – his title and surname are the same. There were also the Marquess Camdens, from whom Camden Town gets its name. A baron is one step lower than an earl, so Vince is higher up than Howard, but Howard will have precedence once he inherits the earldom.
> 
> John Weston was the most expensive tailor in London, patronised by the Prince Regent and Beau Brummell. He's a favourite tailor in Georgette Heyer novels, but little is known about him. His shop was at 38 Old Bond Street, conveniently next door to Truefitt. Today Gucci have this address.
> 
> I put Howard in Park Place because it's an exclusive address with resident access to Green Park, but also a funny little street, almost claustrophobically private, which seemed to suit Howard. In the Regency era it was a little down at heel, with many of the Georgian buildings beginning to fall apart. Most of them were replaced by the Victorians. Number 13 is a nondescript little Georgian house which I chose because according to history, nothing is known about it or any of its residents. Today it is the Embassy for the Republic of Equatorial Guinea. 
> 
> Hatchards is a famous bookshop, then at 189 Piccadilly. Founded in 1797, it claims to be the oldest bookshop in the UK, and is now a branch of Waterstones at 187 Piccadilly (the numbers changed). John Keats was, during his short lifetime, obscure as a poet, and it isn't surprising Hatchards don't have his works. His “Poems” came out in 1816 and sank like a stone, while “Endymion” had only just been published, to be greeted with hostility by the critics.
> 
> I put Lady Augusta in Soho Square simply because the Howards of Carlisle owned property here. The description of her house is based on Carlisle House, one of the places they owned on Carlisle Street (I've given it the address of a different Carlisle House on Soho Square). In real life, the house during this period was rented out to a variety of artsy types, some quite prominent. It was bombed during the war and no longer exists. The Carlisle House on Soho Square was demolished in 1791 and is now occupied by St Patrick's church and its presbytery. 
> 
> Miss Denham says it is morning, but that meant something different in the Regency period. Breakfast was served late, around 10 am, and “morning calls” were paid between 11 am and 3 pm. I'd imagine it would have to be at least 1 pm by now, which according to Jane Austen's “Persuasion”, is still “early morning”. Morning calls were meant to be for no more than fifteen minutes, and Howard seems to think he has overstayed his welcome. 
> 
> “Love in a Village”, a 1762 ballad opera composed and arranged by Thomas Arne, based on the 1729 play, “The Village Opera”, by Charles Johnson. Many of the opera's songs are English folk ballads, and typical of piano pieces taught to girls in this period.
> 
> Susanna refers to the “Apple Pie ABC”, a simple rhyme to teach small children their letters. It begins, “A was an Apple Pie, B Bit it, C Cut it ...”. First published in 1742, it has proved enduring as nursery literature.
> 
> Susanna reads “Evelina, or the History of a Young Lady's Entrance into the World", by Fanny Burney (1778). It helped pave the way for other female novelists who dealt with romance, such as Jane Austen and Maria Edgeworth. It is the basis for BobSkeleton's Regency Romance, "The Remarkable Destiny of Marquis Noir".
> 
> Howard reads, "On Vision and Colours", by German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer (1816). It builds on the work done by Johann van Goethe in his 1810 treatise "Theory of Colour", which Howard has presumably also read. It is considered a key text in colour theory. It was only available in German at this time, so Howard must know the language extremely well.


	5. Lord Moon Takes the Baron For Ices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Moon takes a carriage ride in the Park with a pretty young lady and a beautiful young man on the same day, and makes progress with both of them.

Later in the week, Lord Moon took Miss Denham for a carriage ride in the Park. He hadn't planned to, and even now, wasn't quite sure how it happened. He had called in on Lady Augusta, and let her know that his carriage and driver were quite at her disposal if she and the Denhams would like to use it. Lady Augusta had at once said she would like to pay a series of morning calls in Grosvenor Square with the Denhams, and Howard could join them.

That hadn't been his plan at all, and his mouth opened in silent protest, before saying, “Of course, Lady Augusta”.

Then, when they got to Grosvenor Square, Lady Augusta had looked critically at Susanna, and said, “Miss Denham, you are looking very pale this morning. Are you quite well?”.

Despite Susanna saying she felt perfectly well, Lady Augusta said that she was sure Miss Denham would be fainting from the heat in no time, and Howard could make himself useful by taking her to the Park, where a carriage ride under the shade of the trees would no doubt revive her.

And so Lord Moon found himself in the unusual situation of driving around the Park with a pretty young lady. Miss Denham was wearing a white bonnet trimmed with pink satin, to match her dress. Lord Moon didn't know much about female fashion, but it occurred to him that the bonnet was rather fetching, the way it framed Miss Denham's face, and that the overall effect was light and summery.

“Are you feeling any better, Miss Denham?”, he asked.

“I wasn't ill or faint in the least, Lord Moon, but it is much cooler, and it _is_ nice being in an open carriage”, she admitted.

“I'm afraid this isn't the fashionable hour for driving in the Park”, he said.

“I assure you, I am not a lady of fashion”, Miss Denham said. “You mustn't think me such a ninnyhammer as to care for things like that”.

“I'm not a fashionable gentleman”, Lord Moon said with a grimace. “After my mother died, my father went into such a deep mourning that he never again left the estate, so I rather became used to lack of society”.

“Oh, how sad”, said Miss Denham, surprised by this confession. “May I ask how long it is since your mother died?”.

“She died when I was two or three months old”, Lord Moon replied.

Miss Denham turned a shocked face to him. “But … but how did you survive without a mother's care?”, she asked, beginning to look pale after all.

“I had my nurse”, Lord Moon said. “And my godmother, Lady Augusta, has done her best to take a mother's place. In fact, after my mother's death, my nurse and I lived with her for several years, until I was old enough to go to school”.

Miss Denham had lived under Lady Augusta's roof for almost a week, and her heart went out to the tiny baby, and to the small boy who had grown up under that shelter. It was Miss Denham's turn to pity Lord Moon, and this she did with all her heart.

“Was your mother pretty?”, she found herself asking, inwardly berating herself for such a foolish question.

“I'm afraid I've never seen a portrait of her”, Lord Moon said. “In his grief, my father destroyed every painting made of her, and he forbade anyone from ever talking about her in his presence”.

“Oh, Lord Moon … how awful”, Miss Denham said candidly.

“But Lady Augusta tells me my mother was very attractive, due to her charm and vivacity of spirits, rather than to any extraordinary physical beauty”, Lord Moon said. “She says that my mother was known for her slender waist, her sweet voice, and the gracefulness of her step”.

Miss Denham reflected that a charming, vivacious mother might have made a great deal of difference to Lord Moon, especially if she was also kind and loving.

“Miss Denham, I am afraid I have depressed you”, Lord Moon said anxiously. “I should never have brought up such a subject on a beautiful day like this. Please forgive me, and let us speak of more cheerful things, or Lady Augusta will scold me heartily to see you looking pale and miserable when I return you to your mother. Tell me about your happier beginnings”.

“There's nothing to tell”, said Miss Denham. “My family lives at Redbourn, Hertfordshire. I'm the eldest of five; my brothers are George, and James, and my sisters are Harriet and Catherine. My best friend Delia lives a mile away, and nothing has ever happened to me”.

“That sounds idyllic”, said Lord Moon encouragingly, and soon Miss Denham was describing the games she played with her siblings, the pranks that her brothers got up to, and all the daily life of a quiet English hamlet.

They were now right around on the other side of the park, and when Lord Moon saw Lady Augusta and Mrs Denham walking down Upper Grosvenor Street, he told the driver to meet them.

“May I drive you all home, Lady Augusta?”, Lord Moon called out.

“No thank you, Howard”, Lady Augusta said. “The duchess has offered us the use of her carriage, and I couldn't offend her by refusing. Just a lift back to the square, if you'd be so kind. Miss Denham, you have the roses back in your cheeks. Did you enjoy the Park?”.

****************************************

Now at something of a loss, Lord Moon told his driver to keep driving slowly around the Park. He had never been alone with a young lady before, and he wanted to examine his feelings about it. It was rather pleasant to spend time with a pretty face, and it had been easier to converse than he anticipated. Miss Denham might be unsophisticated, but she wasn't a fool, by any means. Nor did she seem shallow, or cold, or pretending. But could he spend the rest of his life with her? And could she with him? Lord Moon was very doubtful.

A slender figure suddenly leapt into the carriage, and sat beside Lord Moon. “Feel like taking me for a drive?”, Baron Noir asked, leaning back and looking at Lord Moon with a grin that was both impertinent and fond, his tongue resting on a front tooth.

“It doesn't seem I have much choice in the matter”, said Lord Moon, with a show of starchiness, although he could not stop himself from giving a wry little smile. “What are you doing in the Park, anyway?”.

“Getting damnedly hot walking about”, said Baron Noir lazily.

“Following me?”, suggested Lord Moon.

“I believe I was actually at the Park before you, Howard”, mused Baron Noir. “That was a prime article you were driving with before, by the way. You took her to the Menagerie as well”.

“Miss Denham is a lovely young lady and a family connection”, said Lord Moon primly. “I won't have her name dragged about by young bucks like you”.

“Introduce us some time?”.

Lord Moon snorted, before asking curiously, “Do you like girls?”.

“Of course, if they're pretty!”, exclaimed Baron Noir. “Don't you, Howard?”.

“I … I don't rightly know, sir”, Lord Moon prevaricated. “I have spent so little time with the fairer sex”.

“Not that I mind the other”, Baron Noir said with a sly smile at Lord Moon. “Nothing wrong with enjoying both pleasures. What say you?”.

“I fear I may be neither fish nor flesh nor good red herring”, said Lord Moon, looking at his boots.

Baron Noir gave him a swift sideways glance, seemed about to say something, then apparently thought better of it. “Christy Howard, but it's hot today! Why don't we have an ice?”.

“Well, you're cool enough”, said Lord Moon. “Taking my carriage like a common footpad, and demanding payment in ice”.

“No, that's the point – I'm very, very warm, Howard!”, Baron Noir said with a giggle. “Feel me”.

Lord Moon declined the offer to feel how warm Baron Noir was, but he gave the order to the driver to take them to Gunter's.

“Howard, your horse is unhappy”, said Baron Noir seriously.

“What? Which horse?”, asked Lord Moon, startled.

“The one on the right, with a white star on his brow”, Baron Noir said.

“Bruno? What's wrong with him?”, asked Lord Moon, sounding concerned.

“There's a strap bothering him”, said Baron Noir. “One of the leathers isn't buckled correctly, and it's rubbing him”.

Lord Moon gave a muffled exclamation of displeasure, and ordered the driver to stop. He asked the driver to check Bruno's leathers carefully, and sure enough, there was a small problem. Not enough to cause an accident or even great distress to the horse, but enough to create discomfort for it.

“I shall speak to the groom when I get home”, Lord Moon vowed. “That kind of carelessness is cruelty to a beast, and I won't tolerate it”.

“Well, don't _beat_ him or anything”, said Baron Noir. “It was only a small mistake”.

“I'm not going to beat anybody, man or beast”, said Lord Moon. “But I will speak to him about it, and insist he be more careful. How did you know, anyway?”.

“I can talk to animals”, said Baron Noir with modest simplicity. “Learned to when I was a child”.

“Why, did you run off to join the circus?”, asked Lord Moon humorously.

“Nah, I was a ragamuffin from the streets, weren't I?”, said Baron Noir, laughing.

“You? You're a dandy. Your uncle was a French duke, and you spend all your time lying in a hammock, eating cheese”, said Lord Moon scornfully.

“No way, I'm a Cockney scamp”, insisted Baron Noir, giggling. “My uncle's a prize fighter, and I learned all his moves”.

“Well sir, I'm a Cambridge boxing blue, and I'll come at you like a ray, like a beam of light. I'm Monsoon Moon, I'm raining down the pain”.

Lord Moon gave some expert jabs into the baron's shoulders and ribs to show where he would have punched him, should they have been boxing.

“Steady on Howard”, gasped Baron Noir, leaning away from Lord Moon. His blue eyes looked huge with alarm, and with something else that Lord Moon could not identify, but it made his eyes look darker and more seductive.

“I'm sorry for that, sir”, Lord Moon said, sitting up straight again. “I didn't mean to frighten you, but you're such a delicate flower. Look, we're in Berkeley Square now”.

The carriage was driven under the welcome shade of the plane trees; there were several other carriages pulled up outside Gunter's, but all the others were gentlemen with a lady of their choice. There were some curious looks at Lord Moon and Baron Noir when they arrived in Lord Moon's barouche.

A waiter from Gunter's soon came to take their orders, and then they sat together in some shyness. Lord Moon found himself nervously scrunching his silk handkerchief in his hand, until it was too damp to be of any use, while Baron Noir kept smoothing down his white breeches, and picking at imaginary threads in his cherry-red waistcoat, which went so well with his pale green summer coat. Lord Moon noticed the baron's dark hair had fair tints in it, which the sun picked out as it fell on him.

They were both relieved when the waiter returned with their china plates, topped with glass bowls filled with cream ices. Lord Moon had coffee flavour, while Baron Noir enjoyed a pineapple flavoured one, which had been cunningly moulded into the shape of that fruit, the green leaves on top being coloured by hand. They shared their ices, discovering that coffee and pineapple went together better than they had thought possible (Lord Moon indeed had declared it an abhorrent idea at the start).

“You've got a bit of coffee on you”, said Baron Noir, running his finger along Lord Moon's upper lip, and then giggling. “Oh no, that's your moustache! It hasn't grown at all in two days, you know”.

“Don't mock my moustache”, said Lord Moon touchily. “And your cheek has never felt a razor on it at all, I'll wager”.

“Well, you have pineapple on your face”, said Baron Noir, rubbing his spoon against Lord Moon's nose to leave a blob of ice there.

“Clean that up, sir!”, roared Lord Moon, to which Baron Noir responded by impishly stretching up and licking the offending ice off.

“Right, that's it. I challenge you to a duel, sir”, said Lord Moon in a dangerous tone, and before long the two men were having an intense duelling contest using their spoons as swords.

Baron Noir got in a blow of his spoon to Lord Moon's midriff, at which he gave a gasp, and said, “Don't touch me! Not here, not anywhere! I have a horror of it”.

A young lady with a foolish sort of face turned around to stare at them, and Baron Noir poked his tongue out at her, until she gave an indignant squeak and turned around again.

“That's no way to treat a lady”, Lord Moon remonstrated with him.

“A commonplace mind is no sign of a lady”, Baron Noir came back at him, and then the waiter reappeared to take away their plates, and their weapons (I mean, spoons).

“What shall we do now?”, asked Lord Moon. “May I drive you home?”.

“Howard, why don't we go back to the Menagerie?”, suggested the baron. “You hardly got to see anything last time”.

Lord Moon told the driver to take them to the Royal Menagerie, and then they had to face the crowds as they turned towards London.

“A friend of mine lives around here”, said Lord Moon, giving a vague wave as they left Berkeley Square. “He's giving a lecture next week – would you care to accompany me?”.

“Lord no”, said Baron Noir in disgust. “I have better things to do than listen to some jingle-brains bleat on about some bag of moonshine he discovered”.

“Better things such as?”.

“Getting foxed with the pinkest of the Pinks”, giggled Baron Noir. “And dancing with light skirts, shining everyone else down, and not giving a tinker's what anyone thinks”.

“In other words, making a complete cake of yourself”, snapped Lord Moon.

He gave the baron a disapproving look, and set his mouth into a thin line. It was more difficult to talk as they joined the traffic, and Lord Moon was inclined to sit in silence the rest of the way. He was already regretting agreeing to go to the Menagerie with Baron Noir, and beginning to regret ever speaking to him.

When they got to the Menagerie, Lord Moon told his driver he might go home, there was no need to wait. Baron Noir showed no sign of being put out by Lord Moon's ill humour, but elegantly stepped out of the barouche, and held out his hand for Lord Moon to take it, so that they might walk hand in hand.

Lord Moon stiffened. “I dislike holding hands”, he said, a note of panic in his voice. “I … I suffer from damp palms”.

Baron Noir simply smiled, and gently curled his hand around Lord Moon's wrist. “Is that all right, Howard?”.

“Thank you, yes”, said Lord Moon, and they walked together up the stairs, Baron Noir saying he would pay this time, since Lord Moon had bought the ices.

They began walking around the Menagerie with linked arms, the baron explaining to Lord Moon exactly what all the animals were saying, Lord Moon sometimes responding with scepticism.

“Lord Noir, I believe you are drawing a long bow”, he said at last, although smiling at the baron's earnest assertion that the tiger was simply longing for a Turkish bath, and wished someone would take care of its nails.

“Howard, don't you think it's time you called me by my name?”, said the baron. “I call you by yours, and we're walking arm in arm together”.

“I'm afraid I don't know your Christian name”, Lord Moon admitted.

“It's Vincent, but everyone calls me Vince”, smiled the baron.

“Very well, then. Shall we examine the parrot enclosure together, my dear Vince?”.

“Delighted to, Howard”, said Vince with a grin, and the two friends walked arm in arm to where the parrots merrily chattered and squawked.

**Georgian-era (?) picture of Hyde Park, and the carriage road near The Serpentine. The**

**little house is a cheesecake shop. From the Yale Center for British Art.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Park: Hyde Park.
> 
> Grosvenor Square: the most fashionable of all the London squares.
> 
> open carriage: one of the few places a young lady out with a gentleman doesn't need a chaperon as everyone can see them.
> 
> fashionable hour: late afternoon to early evening.
> 
> Susanna feels sorry for Lord Moon having to live with his godmother, but it's quite likely it would have happened even if his mother hadn't died. The Georgians generally thought of small children as a boring waste of time and resources, and often sent them to live with other people until they grew to a useful age. Susanna seems so shocked at the idea of a child being deprived of its mother that she may have been raised at home, Mrs Denham either having no other option, or being unusually maternal.
> 
> Susanna's background is a mixture of Elizabeth Bennett from “Pride and Prejudice” with a bit of Catherine Morland from “Northanger Abbey”. Redbourn in Hertfordshire is considered by many scholars to be an inspiration for Longbourn, Susanna is from a family of five children, and her best friend lives a pleasant walk away, like Elizabeth and Charlotte. I imagined her as like Elizabeth, from the minor gentry, and not very wealthy (although she has brothers to inherit the family home).
> 
> the duchess: only one duchess lived in Grosvenor Square at this time, and it was Charlotte, Lady Beaufort (1771-1854), the wife of Henry Somerset, the 6th Duke of Beaufort (1766-1835). 
> 
> Howard is exaggerating by claiming Susanna as a family connection – his godmother is a friend of her grandmother, and they're not related at all. It shows how quick he is to claim ownership of her.
> 
> Vince quite openly lets Howard know he enjoys both men and women physically. The concept of being homosexual or bisexual didn't exist at this time (let alone being gay), but it seems that several men in the fashionable world had discreet sexual relations with their own or both sexes (the dandies and fops especially).
> 
> ice: ice cream. Available to the public since 1660, and by the Georgian era, very good quality. It would be almost identical to what you'd buy from a top notch ice cream parlour today. The flavours were sometimes unusual by modern standards, such as cheese, bread, lavender, or asparagus, but fruit and coffee were both very popular (vanilla came in the Victorian era). 
> 
> Gunter's Tea Shop, first known as the Pot and Pine Apple, opened at 7-8 Berkeley Square in 1757, its name changing in 1777. It was very fashionable by this stage, famous for its sorbets and ices, and so respectable that it was said to be the only place a lady could go unchaperoned without any damage to her reputation. It's another favourite in Georgette Heyer novels. In summer, you could pull up in your carriage and enjoy your ice cream under the trees. Gunter's closed down in 1956, but the site is still a coffee shop, Pret a Manger, and you can still eat under the trees if you want.
> 
> Vince worries that Howard might beat his groom – it was legal to beat your servants until 1860. Howard is quick to reassure Vince on this point. 
> 
> boxing blue: a blue is the highest sporting achievement at Oxford and Cambridge. Howard's was for the sport of boxing.
> 
> barouche: a luxury open carriage driven by two strong horses, only used for summer and driving around the park. It seems implausible that Howard owns one, and I can only imagine that Lady Augusta badgered him into buying it for the season.
> 
> Turkish bath: a public bath that allows both lying in hot dry rooms and cooling off in cold water, combined with vigorous massage. They didn't become well known in England until the Victorian era.
> 
> holding hands: romantic friendships between men were more widely accepted before people had a concept of homosexuality. Men who held hands, kissed each other's cheeks, and spent all their time together caused gossip, and plenty of speculation, but not scandal.
> 
> first name basis: male friends generally called each other by their surnames (or titles, if noble). First names were extremely intimate, and almost unheard of for two men who barely know each other. The fact that Howard agrees to this so readily is striking, and suggests he's desperate for a close friend and/or has had his head completely turned by Vince. 
> 
> SLANG  
> prime article: good-looking woman.  
> young buck: high-spirited young man  
> neither fish nor flesh nor good red herring: not one thing or another  
> footpad: a highwayman on foot  
> commonplace mind: a vulgar mind  
> jingle-brains: idiot  
> bag of moonshine: load of nonsense  
> foxed: drunk  
> pinkest of the Pink: the cream of society  
> light skirts: loose women  
> shining everyone else down: outshining everyone  
> not giving a tinker's: not giving a damn  
> making a cake of yourself: making a fool of yourself  
> drawing a long bow: telling a tall tale


	6. Sir Dixon Bainbridge Suggests a Supper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard has supper with an old friend, and learns there are damaging rumours about Vince in circulation.

After spending over an hour at the Menagerie, Howard and Vince had walked home together, talking eagerly of all they had seen, and on the way, eaten a meal at one of the excellent hotels in Jermyn Street. To the end of his days, Howard could never tell the hotel apart from all the others of its kind, and could never recall what he and Vince had eaten. Like the hotel, the meal was excellent, but unmemorable.

They had drunk a little too freely at the nameless hotel, leaving it with their arms around each other as if for support. When they reached Howard's house, he offered to give Vince back his poetry books.

"Oh ... don't worry about it, Howard", Vince said. "Another time. I'll go home through Green Park".

"Why, where do you live?", asked Howard.

"Piccadilly", said Vince, waving as he disappeared on his way to the Queen's Meadow.

It gave Howard a strangely comforting feeling to know that he and Vince lived by the same park; might meet one day, strolling along the same walk, or be found sheltering beneath the same tree.

Howard found that while he could dispassionately examine his feelings for Miss Denham, and place her good and bad points in two columns, he could do nothing of the sort with Vince. He hardly knew how he felt about him.

Vince could hurt, but there was a sweetness to him as well. He was foolish, but also wise. Dissolute, but innocent. He was shallow, vain, foppish ... yet beautiful, elegant, charming. These did not line up in neat rows, but exploded in Catherine wheels, swirled like planets in their orbits, chased each other down rabbit holes, and hid somewhere deep inside Howard.

Vince made Howard laugh as never before, he made him see the world with fresh eyes, he somehow felt that, different as they were, there was an essential sameness to their natures that cried out to each other across a deep void. A void that Howard believed could never be crossed. Not in this world, not in this lifetime.

He had another night lying awake for several hours, unable to settle into a deep slumber, and when he did sleep, slept uneasily.

****************************************

Howard went to the lecture at the Royal Institution by himself, no one else wanting to go with him. He thought they were missing out, because Sir Dixon Bainbridge was a charismatic speaker, and furthermore, had a magnificent moustache, lush and thick. For two and a half hours he held the audience in the palm of his hand, spinning yarns that had them on the edge of their seats or convulsed in fits of laughter.

Afterwards, Howard went to congratulate his old friend.

“Bainbridge, wonderful as ever”, he said, shaking his friend's hand.

“Why Moon, you old reprobate”, said Bainbridge with a rich chortle. “Come to supper, why don't you? I live just around the corner from here”.

Howard agreed with alacrity, but was disappointed when he found that the supper was not for him alone, but also included Bainbridge's assistant, Mr Fossil, and his publisher, Sir Hamilton Cork. He began to think he had only been invited to make up the numbers.

“New project Fossil and I are working on”, said Bainbridge, as he began on his white soup. “Turning the menagerie at the Tower of London into a major attraction again”.

“But there are hardly any animals left at the Tower”, Howard objected.

“Aha, sadly that is correct, Moon. It has fallen on hard times through neglect”, Bainbridge replied. “But I have been promised by the Prince Regent that when he is king, the Tower Menagerie will be built up again, and he has asked me to oversee the entire thing”.

“Speed the day”, said Cork, sipping his wine, as he mentally hastened the death of King George III.

“And I'm going be in charge of the animals”, said Fossil, with a vacant grin. “The lumpy man of the desert, the big hairy floor rug man, the wrinkly grey man with a snake for a nose, all of them”.

“Well, that would be wonderful if you could make the Tower Menagerie a worthy rival of the Menagerie at the Exeter 'Change”, said Howard, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

“I believe you were seen at the Menagerie with a spankingly pretty girl, Moon”, said Bainbridge. “Heard she'd rather set her cap at you”.

“That's Miss Denham, a family friend”, Howard said shyly. “There's no truth to those rumours, I can assure you”.

“Gad, there's no need to be ashamed of her, you dolt”, Bainbridge said, as the dishes were changed for the next course. “She's a fine filly, and I'd love to ride her into the ground myself, even though the poor girl obviously hasn't a groat”.

Howard turned red with fury, and had trouble controlling his temper. “Miss Denham is a lovely young lady”, he said with his voice shaking. “She wears white bonnets and embroiders flowers, and is up from the country for the first time. I won't have her good name besmirched when she's shown me nothing but kindness and courtesy”.

“Calm down, Moon”, said Bainbridge with a lazy smile, waving his hands placatingly. “It's just bawdy talk between rough men, don't take it is so seriously”.

“I accept your gentlemanly apology”, said Howard, bowing his head slightly.

“How do you know Bainbridge, Moon?”, asked Cork, in an effort to change the subject.

“We both went to Eton”, said Bainbridge, gesturing to everyone to help themselves to cold meat. “I was in my last year when he was in his first. I was his fag master”.

“Haha, I suppose you absolutely beat him to pieces”, laughed Cork.

“No, Moon was rather too pathetic to beat very much”, drawled Bainbridge. “He had such a case on me, and was always trotting by my side. _Can I carry your bag, Bainbridge? Let me clean your shoes, Bainbridge._ It could get quite fatiguing”. He gave Howard a malevolent look over his glass, as the other two roared with laughter.

“Haha, I suppose you got him to do all sorts of things for you”, said Cork. “I know I did, with my fag”.

“Once I tried to make him pull his pants down, and he quite simply refused to do it, even after I threatened a beating he'd never forget”, recalled Bainbridge. “So instead I offered him a penny to show me his prick, and he proudly opened his pants to display a shy little silkworm”.

Amid the general raucous laughter, Howard flushed in humiliation.

Bainbridge added, “And then I told him he was a good boy and patted his head, and he went away well pleased with his penny”.

“What a complete loser”, said Fossil, as he carefully put his china cup into the top pocket of his powder blue suit.

“Why have you got a cup in your pocket?”, frowned Howard.

“It's a pocket cup”, said Fossil. “I just invented it”.

“And why are you drinking wine from a cup?”.

“So it will fit in my pocket, dingus”, retorted Fossil.

“I hear Miss Denham is not the only beauty that Moon is courting”, said Bainbridge slyly.

“No! Moon, you old dog”, said Cork. “Who the devil is she, Bainbridge?”.

“Baron Noir”, said Bainbridge. “I'm told that a few days ago they were seen having an assignation at Gunter's in Moon's carriage”.

“We weren't having an assignation, we were having ices”, said Howard with annoyance. “It was a hot day, we felt like an ice. I hardly know the man”.

“I heard he licked your nose”, said Bainbridge.

“Simply boyish high spirits”, said Howard irritably.

“There's a bet on at White's as to whether you'll marry Miss Denham or the baron”, laughed Bainbridge.

“Really? Er, what are most people betting?”, asked Howard curiously.

“That you'll marry Miss Denham and keep the baron as your mistress”, drawled Bainbridge.

“Seriously Moon, Noir is an absolute rogue from what I hear”, said Cork. “You need to be careful”.

“Why, what's supposed to be wrong with him?”, Howard asked, with a show of boredom.

“Well, the very way he became Baron Noir, for a start”, said Bainbridge. “There was something damned fishy about the whole thing”.

“Like what?”, asked Howard.

“You remember the last Baron Noir died two years ago, old Rufus. And it was said that he was the last of the Noirs – his nephew Bryan de Ferry was going to inherit the barony, as old Rufus' son Rupert had gone to India with the army, and died out there”, Bainbridge began mysteriously.

“Yes, and de Ferry was no better than he should be, lived on the Continent most of his life, despite being from good Sussex stock”, added Cork censoriously.

“Well, what should de Ferry do but go out to India, and return with this boy, claiming that Rupert had secretly married some Frog trollop, and had this boy, and they'd both died of cholera”.

“Very convenient”, scoffed Cork.

“No record of any marriage, no record of any Frog, no birth record for the boy, and he spoke like a guttersnipe. But de Ferry swore up and down that he had traced his cousin's final resting place, and found the boy almost running wild. He said he recognised his supposed nephew by his eyes and nose, which the Noirs had. Any differences must be from the French side”.

“Still, de Ferry's story must have seemed credible”, argued Howard. “And what motive would he have for making it up?”.

“Why indeed?”, said Bainbridge. “Some say this boy is one of Rupert's by-blows, that de Ferry found, and others say that the boy is the natural son of de Ferry himself. Wanting to ensure his son inherited, you see, which was much less clear if de Ferry had become baron”.

“And what else is supposed to be wrong with him, besides this bull-scutter?”, Howard demanded.

“He must be burning through his inheritance like lightning”, said Bainbridge with relish.

“I hear he spends more than a hundred thousand a year on his wardrobe”, added Cork.

“He's constantly drunk”, Fossil put in.

“Drugs too, I expect”.

“Hashish and opium”.

“Got a taste for them in India”.

“Always whoring around”.

“Not just with women, either”.

“I heard, molly-boys”.

“He's a dandy”.

“He's a fop”.

“He's a filthy little sodomite”.

“And involved with some very fishy characters”.

“His servants don't even look human”.

“There's some connection with magic”.

"Secret societies". 

“The occult”.

“Black magic”.

“Sex magic”.

“Orgies”.

“Whippings”.

"Corruption of the young".

“Violating maidens”.

“Ruining good women”.

“Making women the equal of men”.

“Blasphemy”.

“Bowing down to foreign gods”.

“Devil worship”.

“He's a rake”.

“A rogue”.

“Rascal!”.

“A lot of Canterbury tales”, said Howard scornfully. “Is there a shred of proof that any of this is true?”.

“You certainly seem very loyal in your support of a man you hardly know”, said Bainbridge silkily. “But you always did have these passionate feelings for your fellow man. I wonder if they always returned your affection?”.

“If you are referring to Tommy ….”, began Howard angrily.

“Tommy Nookah”, Bainbridge explained as an aside. “Captain in the Queen's 16th, you know. Killed at Waterloo”.

“He died a hero”, said Howard with cold dignity, “and I am proud to call myself his friend. And now gentlemen, I must take my leave of you”.

“But you haven't had apple pie and coffee yet”, objected Bainbridge.

“I won't wait for pudding, thank you”, said Howard, putting on his coat.

“Can I call a link-boy for you?”, asked Bainbridge. “It's a moonless night, and there are a lot of footpads and ruffians around here you know, up on Hay Hill. I found myself attacked and held around the throat by one a few years ago, but luckily I had a pistol hidden in my moustache, which saved my life”.

“I shall be perfectly safe, thank you”, said Howard firmly, putting on his hat, and stalking out.

He avoided Hay Hill, and began walking home a different way. He was not long past The Only Running Footman when he was accosted by a man in a heavy coat with a rough voice. Howard instinctively got ready to protect himself, but the man only said, “Any blunt for a veteran, sir?”.

“Of course”, said Howard, taking some coins from his purse. “I see you've lost your leg”.

“Yes, sir. Waterloo”, said the man, then his eyes widened at what Howard was holding out to him. “Sir, that's too much! I'll be robbed, or accused of stealing, so I will”.

Howard admitted the sense in this, and halved the amount of coins.

“You know, I'll only spend it on drink”, the man said, as if compelled to be honest in the face of generosity.

“You've earned the right to drink as much as you choose”, said Howard, “but I hope you'll spend the money on food and a place to sleep. What's your name?”.

“Tommy”, the man said. “Tommy Miller, sir”.

Howard felt a pang go through him, and he could only mumble a hasty “good luck” to Miller before he walked away with a lump in his throat. By the time he got to Half Moon Street he had tears streaming down his face, and was glad of the dark night to conceal himself.

That night, Howard cried himself to sleep, his heart aching for his lost love, who had died too soon.

**_The Royal Institution on Albermarle Street_ , painted by Thomas Hosmer**

**Shepherd (c 1838).**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to a 1814 restaurant guide I consulted, there were a number of very good hotels in Jermyn Street, all more or less indistinguishable from one another, but a safe bet for a good meal. Jermyn Street is very close to Howard's house.
> 
> Green Park is 40 acres of green space between Hyde Park and St. James Park. It is at the back of Park Place, where Howard lives, and is bounded by Piccadilly on one side. The Queen's Meadow is at the bottom of the park on Piccadilly. 
> 
> I made Vince live on Piccadilly because that's where Lord Byron had his London townhouse , at 139. The house is still there, but unfortunately the facade is different so it doesn't look the same.
> 
> The Royal Institution is an organisation devoted to scientific education and research, founded in 1799, and still at its original address of 21 Abermarle Street. 
> 
> We already know that Bainbridge lives in the Berkeley Square neighbourhood. In my mind, he lives on Charles Street where it joins the Square – almost the whole of the street still has Georgian terrace houses on it. 
> 
> White soup is a classic Georgian dish. Recipes vary, but it's basically a creamy veal soup.
> 
> The Menagerie at the Tower of London had existed since medieval times, and was opened to the public in the 18th century (the fee was threepence, OR a cat or dog to feed the animals with!). By this stage, there were hardly any animals left, but after 1820, when the Prince Regent became George IV, the collection was greatly added to, thanks to the new keeper, Alfred Copps (not Fossil). It was closed in 1830, and the animals became the basis for London Zoo in Regent's Park.
> 
> A groat was worth fourpence, and the English idiom to “not have a groat”, means to be extremely poor, broke. Bainbridge heavily implies Howard can only attract a pretty girl because he has money – even though this is what Howard thought himself, it must sting hearing it from someone else.
> 
> Eton College, a famous boy's boarding school founded in Berkshire in1440. Still extremely posh and expensive, just like in the Regency period. Depending on when they began and left, Bainbridge is around 5-10 years older than Howard. Howard would have attended a prep school for young children before Eton. 
> 
> A fag is a young boy at boarding school who is matched up with an older boy, his fag-master, and essentially works as his servant, often paid in little tips. In return, the fag-master is supposed to protect the younger boy from bullies and help him adjust to boarding school life. The system was rife with abuse – fag-masters were expected to beat their fags, and the line between sexual favours and sexual abuse is a wobbly one. Eton College no longer has the fagging system, which was abandoned in the 1980s. 
> 
> White's is the oldest and most exclusive gentleman's club in London, founded in 1693 as a hot chocolate shop. In 1778 it moved to its present location at 37-38 St James Street, and by 1783 was the unofficial headquarters of the Tory party. It was notorious for gambling, and the bet on Howard's marriage prospects is nowhere near as silly as many real life bets placed there.
> 
> The story about Vince's past is partly based on “Tarzan of the Apes”, where Lord Greystoke is eventually discovered living wild in Africa with only flimsy evidence to support his aristocratic background. The cholera in India was in 1817, so Bryan de Ferry brought Vince to England only a year previously. The pandemic began around Calcutta, was spread rapidly by the British army, and millions died.
> 
> One of the few ways a nobleman could get thrown out of society was by losing all his money, which happened quite frequently. Bainbridge seems hopeful this will happen to Vince.
> 
> The scurrilous rumours about Vince are the same sorts of rumours levelled at the various Hellfire Clubs and their members.
> 
> The 16th regiment was The Queen's Light Dragoons, a cavalry unit who were heavily involved in the Battle of Waterloo. They suffered eight casualties, one of whom was a captain. 
> 
> Link-boys were young boys who could be hired by travellers to carry torches on dark nights. It really was a moonless night on the 1st of June 1818. Despite being such an exclusive address, Berkeley Square wasn't safe, due to highwaymen and footpads on nearby Hay Hill and Hill Street.
> 
> The Only Running Footman is a pub at 5 Charles Street, first opened in 1749. 
> 
> There were many wounded veterans from the Napoleonic Wars, and with no welfare, assistance, or support, lots of them were forced into begging.
> 
> Half Moon Street runs between Curzon St and Piccadilly, about five minutes walk from where Howard would have encountered Miller. 
> 
> SLANG  
> bull-scutter: bullshit  
> molly-boys: rent boys  
> rake: a fashionable immoral man (rogues and rascals were plain criminals)  
> lot of Canterbury tales: pack of lies  
> blunt: money


	7. Miss Denham Creates a Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn a little about Howard's past. Howard asks Vince to go riding in the Park with him, but is forced to save Miss Denham from an awkward situation.

Howard woke so pale and red-eyed the next day, his head aching and his stomach protesting the idea of food, that he rang for his valet to bring him a cup of coffee, and to ask that a message be sent to Lady Augusta saying he was indisposed that day.

As he lay back on his pillows, the curtains drawn against sunlight, Howard inwardly squirmed remembering the supper last night. He had known since he was a boy that he was drawn to his own sex. But after a disastrous experiment at school, he had learned the bitter truth – he could never be with them physically. His mind and heart yearned for them, his body rebelled against their very touch. He was a miserable freak, left betwixt and between the worlds, destined to be alone forever, spending his life in isolation.

When he had gone up to Cambridge, he had shared rooms at Trinity with The Honourable Tommy Nookah. The youngest son of a youngest son, Tommy had no pretensions to grandeur, and had thrown himself into college life with enthusiasm, becoming known as a keen sportsman and a fighter, with a daring lack of respect for rules and regulations.

It was almost inevitable that Howard would become his friend, and passionate admirer. But due to his affliction, he could not even stand to hold Tommy's hand, let alone kiss him. Tommy was affectionate by nature, and often put his arm around Howard. They hugged frequently, and there were many nights they slept in the same narrow bed, their limbs tightly wrapped around each other. It meant a great deal to Howard, but sometimes he wondered if Tommy ever considered him anything more than a dear friend.

After university, Tommy had announced he would be joining the army. He was a younger son, and must find himself a profession, after all. Howard longed to join up as well. It seemed like the most marvellous adventure – two men of action, intrepid explorers who weren't afraid of fleas or bad food, entering the fray shoulder to shoulder, brothers in arms who would fight to the death to protect each other.

Howard was all ready to ask his father's permission to join up when the news came that his father had died. Howard had inherited the family estate, and was now heir to the earldom. A weight of responsibility came down on his young shoulders, and it was impossible that he should give way to his own desires, especially when he found that his father had neglected the estate for decades, and many things needed setting to rights.

Howard lived for his occasional letters from Tommy. He wasn't much of a correspondent, always being one for deeds rather than words, but for Howard, each letter was a window to another world, one which he had hoped to inhabit himself. It seemed to him that Tommy was truly living, while he merely existed at Hartshill.

 _The first time we had to charge_ , wrote Tommy, _you wouldn't believe how frightened I was, Howard. No matter how I steeled myself, I could not say I was ready to die for king and country, and felt an awful coward, for I never backed down from a fight in my life. But then I thought of fat old Mrs Miggins, our bedder at Trinity, and the honest innkeeper at the Dragon. And although I couldn't fight for the whole country, and the king could go hang, I could fight for Mrs Miggins and the innkeeper well enough, for the thought of Boney coming after good Mrs Miggins was more than I could stand, and I felt quite prepared to lay down my life for her. Such are the strange sources of courage during battle!_

When word came that Tommy had been badly injured at Waterloo, Howard had rushed over to Flanders, thanking Heaven he was on business in London at the time. He hoped to nurse Tommy back to health, until he could be taken to Harthill for his convalescence. In a farm building in Mont-St-Jean he found Tommy, who had taken a sabre to the face a week before, and died in Howard's arms an hour later, a barely recognisable putrefied stinking mess with jaw hanging loose and nose sliced away, choking on his own blood.

The horror of it lived on in Howard, for now he had an almost neurasthenic disgust of the human body, with being touched, and most of all, the smell of his fellow humans, even odours which were quite clean and natural. Alone on his estate, he spent much of his time outdoors riding horses and walking dogs; the scent of healthy animals was soothing to him, and he gained great comfort from patting, stroking, and cuddling dumb beasts.

On top of his failure as a man, and as a human being, for that is Howard saw it, he now worried about his budding friendship with Vince. He hardly knew what to think of the rumours, but knowing that Vince was a person who gained notoriety everywhere he went meant that Howard himself began to feel exposed.

****************************************

The next morning, Howard's valet insisted he get up, saying he couldn't lie a-bed like a scorned woman. He'd been very patient with Howard the day before, laying vinegar-soaked cloths on his aching head, and bringing him cups of coffee, tea, and hot chocolate throughout the day, accompanied by slices of brittle toast.

But now he made Howard get up for breakfast, wrapped in a silk banyan, and urged him to make his own toast in front of the fire. The valet made the tea, and then had servants draw Howard a cold bath. Finally, he helped Howard to costume himself, shaved him, patted him with cologne, and dressed his hair with pomade.

“There, my lord. Do you not feel better now?”.

“Thank you, Brooks”, murmured Howard. “I'm ready to face the day”.

What he was to do with the day, Howard had no idea. He ambled down Jermyn Street, looking in the windows of shops, until he reached Floris. Here he saw Vince, and, after a little hesitation, walked through the door to join him. Vince turned upon hearing someone enter, and immediately squealed, “Howard!”, while grinning like a maniac.

“Good day to you, Vince”, smiled Howard.

“What do you think of this scent?”, Vince replied, leaning over so Howard could smell him. “It's lily-of-the-valley”.

Howard stopped himself from recoiling, and instead leaned in a little to smell Vince's neck and throat, from where the rich perfume arose.

“Exquisite”, said Howard. “It smells like a thousand springs all at once”.

Vince seemed slightly taken aback that Howard hadn't given him a sarcastic response, but said he would buy three bottles of it. He told Howard to try some, and Howard ended up choosing some Limes toilet water. The heat was making London more pungent every day, and Howard thought the clear crisp scent of Limes was perfect for warding it off.

While Vince wandered about trying more perfumes, Howard bought new toothbrushes, hairbrushes, combs, and shaving brushes, asking that all his purchases be delivered to his address. He then waited patiently as Vince tried almost every scent in the shop, before handing over a selection of bottles to be delivered. _He must be burning through his inheritance like lightning_ , went through Howard's head, and he tried not to worry about his new friend's spending habits. Instead he told himself that Vince smelt delicious.

When Vince was finally finished, he turned and said, “I'm just off to buy some boots. Come to Hoby's with me?”.

“Hoby is going to be very sarcastic about the fact that you smell like you toppled over and fell into a bucket of scent”, Howard said with a smirk.

“But you'll come to my defence, won't you Howard?”, pleaded Vince, batting his long dark lashes. “After all, you _are_ a boxing blue”.

“I will always defend a lady's honour – and anyone who smells like a lady”, said Howard with a wicked smile.

****************************************

It was on the way to Hoby's that Howard said diffidently, “I have been hearing some very … odd things about you”.

Vince gave Howard a surprisingly knowing look, and said coolly, “Do you believe them?”.

“No, not really … that is to say, no I don't”. Howard's voice had gained sureness as the sentence had gone on, and ended on a decided note.

“That's good”, said Vince, without smiling. “I was wondering when you'd hear about the wicked baron”.

“Mad, bad, and dangerous to know?”, joked Howard.

“Well, you know what they say. The only thing worse than being talked about is having a bat caught in your hair”, said Vince cheerily.

But now his godmother and his supposed good friend had both warned him away from Vince. And they were being watched. For the first time in his life, Howard decided to openly defy society.

****************************************

“So those riding boots you bought – are they just for show, or do you actually ride?”, Howard asked as they left the boot maker's hours later (Mr Hoby had in fact been charmed by Vince, and not in the least rude or sarcastic).

“How dare you!”, said Vince with mock indignation. “Yes, I ride. I'm a good rider. Rode all over the place growing up”.

“Would you like to ride in the Park with me one morning?”, asked Howard. “I give you fair warning, I like to go early”.

“Ashamed to be seen with me?”, asked Vince lightly.

“No, I dislike crowds”, Howard corrected him. “It's impossible to ride properly with hordes of people milling about”.

“Tomorrow?”, Vince suggested.

Howard agreed, and told Vince the hour to meet him. He thought a shadow passed over Vince's face when he heard it, and wasn't surprised that Vince was considerably late. Howard had already been galloping on his bay mare Miranda for some time, and felt untidy and windswept when Vince turned up on his chestnut, looking impeccable as always, and so beautiful with cheeks flushed in the early morning air that Howard thought that everyone in the Park must stare at him.

“Look! New boots!”, Vince called in greeting.

“So I see. They must've taken a long time time to get on”, said Howard drily.

“Oh … no, actually I was helping a mouse escape to Paris, and the time got away from me”, Vince assured him solemnly.

“Humph. Well, do you feel like trotting down Rotten Row?”, asked Howard. “I think you've lost galloping time by now, it's so crowded already”.

“No point looking this amazing and having no one to see it”, said Vince airily.

He rode post in front of Howard, his round buttocks in soft yellow nankeen breeches proving so distracting that Howard urged his mare forward so that they were riding side by side. Vince turned and smiled at him, while seeming fully aware of the effect his attire had. He wore a pink silk scarf around his neck, so different to the stiff cravat that Howard wore. Howard longed to untie it, to bare Vince's throat and fill his nostrils with his rich and delicate lily-of-the-valley scent.

Vince insisted they could still gallop, there weren't that many people, and soon the two of them were thundering down the Row. Vince was indeed a good rider – and a more graceful, agile one than Howard. They rode together for almost an hour, and then Vince said he must get down. Howard had already dismounted and handed his horse to the groom. He held Vince's horse as the baron slid down, landing in the circle of Howard's arms, with Howard's hands on his hips to steady him.

Vince looked at Howard questioningly, for he seemed in no hurry to release Vince. Instead Howard noticed that Vince smelt of horse, and even after warmth and exercise, had beneath that a lush, musky smell that was more like that of an animal than a man. He was a panther padding through a tropical jungle. Howard longed to bury his face in it, to rub Vince's odour all over himself. He unconsciously fingered Vince's silk scarf .

“Silly little scarf”, Howard murmured, his lips against Vince's ear, hardly knowing what he said or did. “I'd like to pull it off”.

“It took ages to tie”, Vince said with a gasp in his voice. Howard's proximity seemed to have taken all the bold sauciness out of him, and he looked up at Howard's greater height almost timidly.

“I wish I could - “, began Howard huskily, before he broke off to exclaim, “My God!”.

Howard handed the horse's reins to Vince, and said grimly, “My apologies, sir. Something of great importance needs my attention. We shall see each other anon”.

Vince stared after him as Howard began walking determinedly through the crowd, where a woman and man were strolling under a clump of trees, deep in conversation.

****************************************

Howard placed himself squarely in Susanna's view and glared at her in a way which demanded she not ignore him. At last she felt forced to acknowledge him, and said, “Good day to you, Lord Moon. Lord Moon, please meet Mr Corner, who was once my singing master”.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr Corner”, said Howard, holding out his hand and staring down from his superior height.

“Your servant, my lord”, said Mr Corner, with a tone of bitterness. He was a slightly fey-looking man, slender and dark, dressed in artistic fashion.

“Miss Denham, I believe you should return to my godmother's house immediately”, said Howard seriously. “I'm sure Mr Corner understands the position you are in”.

“Lord Moon is quite correct”, said Mr Corner at once. “I apologise, Miss Denham. Our long friendship made me forget how society would misunderstand. I hope to see you some other time”. Nodding to both Howard and Susanna, he took his leave.

Susanna looked reproachfully at Howard, and almost seemed on the verge of disappointed tears. Howard had to admit she hadn't dressed to show herself off – she was wearing an old dark blue gown and a simple straw sunbonnet. Her pretty ringlets were obviously artificial, because her golden hair hung straight under her bonnet.

“Miss Denham, did you come to meet a man in the Park entirely alone?”, Howard asked.

Susanna flushed pink. “I didn't come here to meet a man! I came for an early walk, and happened to run into Mr Corner, whom I have known for some years. And I'm not alone – Mary is with me. She's over there”.

Howard looked, and said, “Your maid?”. Mary was a pale, frightened-looking country girl of about sixteen, quite unsuitable as a chaperon.

“You don't understand, Lord Moon”, said Susanna. “It is so hard in London compared to the simplicity of the country. There I might walk or ride abroad at will, greeting all I meet, whether ladies or gentleman, high or low, for all have known me since a child”.

“I do understand, Miss Denham”, said Howard. “But it's not just London – you are a young lady now. You must learn to be protected better, even on your return to Redbourn”.

“I cannot think why you care – I am nothing to you”, Susanna said coldly.

“I must respectfully disagree, Miss Denham”, said Howard. “You are a young lady under my godmother's protection, and therefore under my protection too. I have no wish to see you ruined, or my godmother dragged into a scandal”.

“I suppose you will escort me back to Soho Square now”, said Susanna with a pout of her lips.

“No, Miss Denham”, said Howard. “That would be harm your reputation too. I hardly know how it may be managed, but you must walk home with Mary, as you walked out, and I shall walk on the other side of the street in case I am needed. Thankfully it is still early”.

And so they made their way to Soho Square, Howard greatly perturbed at Susanna's wilful behaviour, for he was not fooled by her story of coincidentally running into Mr Corner the one morning she managed to escape for an early walk.

When they reached the street which led to the square, Howard joined Susanna and Mary, and they all walked together

“How did you ever leave the house this morning?”, he asked irritably.

“Slipped out when the parlour maid wasn't looking”, said Susanna.

Howard thought for a moment, then said, “Mary, you must say that you felt faint and went outside for some air. Tell them … tell them you were pining for the moors and dales of home”.

“The moors and dales of _Hertfordshire_?”, said Susanna with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, what do you have in Hertfordshire instead of moors and dales?”, asked Howard.

“Fields and streams?”, Susanna offered.

“Mary, tell them you were the pining for the shady green fields and the cool clear streams of home”, ordered Howard. “You felt stifled in the house, as if you might faint, and without thinking, rushed outside for some fresh air. And you, Miss Denham, followed her, in great concern, pleading with Mary to be sensible”.

“Oh lord, I'll get the most terrible scolding, so I will”, wailed Mary.

“You'll get a scolding, but your mistress could have her whole life ruined”, said Howard solemnly. “You don't want that, do you?”.

“No lord, I don't”, sniffled Mary. “I'm so afraid of Lady Augusta though”.

“Be a brave girl”, said Howard, smiling despite himself. “Lady Augusta isn't so terrifying – she can be very kind when the mood strikes her”.

Susanna suddenly said, “You love her!”.

“I beg your pardon?”, said Howard in disbelief. “I can assure you I am not making advances to your maid, only seeking to hearten her a little”.

“No, you … you _love_ Lady Augusta!”.

“Of course I love my godmother”, Howard said blankly. “What kind of monster did you take me for, that I wouldn't love the woman generous enough to take me in as a baby, and raise me as if I'd been her own? It is my very duty to love her”.

“Oh, if it's only a _duty_ ”, said Susanna scornfully.

“Duty is very important”, said Howard firmly, “and I can assure you that Lady Augusta is not some sort of Gorgon, as you and your maid seem to think. She has been very kind in bringing you to London for your first season, and you owe duty to her as well. Yet at the first opportunity, you run to the Park to meet a young man”.

With this stinging rebuff, he crossed the road into the square, and rapped on Lady Augusta's door.

**_High Society, Rotten Row_ by Carlo Bossoli (mid 19th century)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trinity is the largest college at Cambridge University, founded by Henry VIII in 1546. The richest college, it has long been associated with the courtly governing class.
> 
> Tommy is an example of “the ordinary gentleman” who comes from the aristocracy, yet will never inherit either great wealth or a title. He must choose a profession to support himself, and the army and the church were both considered good options for a gentleman; the law and medicine slightly less so.
> 
> Bedder: college servants at Oxbridge employed in a housekeeping role to take care of student's rooms. Traditionally, they were women aged over fifty, to prevent any suggestion of impropriety in having a female in a young man's bedroom. (Students were always men, of course). I named Howard and Tommy's bedder after Mrs Miggins from “Blackadder”.
> 
> The Dragon: Possibly The Green Dragon, a pub dating back to the 17th century in Chesterton – once a small village about a mile from Cambridge, and now one of its suburbs. 
> 
> Boney: Napoleon Bonaparte. 
> 
> Tommy's injury at Waterloo is pretty much textbook stuff, but Howard coming to see him is pure artistic licence. I'm not sure it would even have been possible; you'll have to remember how chaotic things are after a battle and how rich and determined Howard is in order to suspend your disbelief. The injured were taken to a farm at Mont-St-Jean, a hamlet near Waterloo, for treatment.
> 
> Vinegar-soaked cloths: standard treatment for headaches before the discovery of aspirin etc. Some people still swear by it.
> 
> Banyan: a sort of knee-length dressing gown, but tightly fitted, rather than being the loose bathrobe type of dressing gown.
> 
> Toast: before toasters, you did toast in the fire by putting it on a toasting fork. You were meant to do it yourself, making breakfast a fairly independent meal, even for the wealthy.
> 
> Pomade: a hair-styling product that leaves the hair looking slick and shiny. In the Regency era, lard or mutton was the usual base, scented with things like lavender, rosemary, or lemon to cover up the smell of fat.
> 
> Floris of London is a perfume shop in Jermyn Street founded in 1730 by Juan Famenias Floris (originally as a barber and hair care business). The shop moved to No. 89 in 1810 and is still at the same address, still run by the same family. Both men and women wore perfume and cologne in the Regency era, and Beau Brummell was a customer at Floris. They have made Vince's Lily-of-the-valley scent since 1758 (you can't make perfume from the plant – luckily, as it's poisonous – so it's made from musk, rose, jasmine, lemon and tuberose). Limes toilet water has been made since the late 18th century, specifically to counter the awful smell of a London summer in the days before modern sanitation, and from lemon, lime (linden) blossom, and musk. 
> 
> Wealthy people didn't usually carry around much money – everything Howard buys in shops is bought on credit, and the bill would arrive in the post. And naturally ladies and gentlemen couldn't carry their shopping around with them, so it was delivered to their home – either immediately, or when it was ready.
> 
> George Hoby was a well-known fashionable boot maker, who invented Wellington boots for the Duke of Wellington. His shop was on the corner of St James's Street and Piccadilly; today it is the address of a caviar shop called Caviar House (confusingly, it is both 54 St James's and 161 Piccadilly). Hoby had a strong sense of his own importance, and was known for his sarcastic tongue. 
> 
> “Mad, bad, and dangerous to know” was said of Lord Byron. Lady Caroline Lamb claimed to have coined it, who had an affair with Byron in 1812.
> 
> Vince has his own take on Oscar Wilde's aphorism: “The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about”. 
> 
> Early: 10 am was the breakfast hour in London, and people usually became active around 8 am, taking exercise, writing letters, going shopping etc. I imagine Howard asked for them to ride at 7 am before too many people got there, and Vince arrived around a quarter to eight. They rode for nearly an hour together, so it's perhaps 8:40 am when Howard spots Susanna.
> 
> Rode post: Rose to the trot.
> 
> Nankeen: A light cotton denim from China, always dyed yellow.
> 
> Rotten Row: A broad track along the south side of Hyde Park, and a fashionable place to be seen riding in the 18th and 19th centuries. 
> 
> It is for Susanna, as the lady, to acknowledge Howard. Women were free to ignore men in public if they chose, and this wasn't considered a “cut” or in any way scandalous. Howard continues standing in front of her until she has to acknowledge him – quite a rude and aggressive action, but he considers it an emergency.
> 
> Artificial ringlets: With curly hair so fashionable, lots of women, and no doubt some men, put their hair up in curling papers to get the requisite curls.


	8. The Duchess of Rutland Holds a Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard loses faith in both Susanna and Vince, but receives an epiphany after a coming out ball.

Upon knocking at the door, it was opened by the parlour maid, who said, "Good morning, Lord Moon. May I take your hat?".

Howard was just thanking her when Lady Augusta came out and said, "Howard, what on earth are you doing here so early? And _why_ do you have Miss Denham and Mary with you?".

Howard gave an incurious glance behind him, and said, "Oh, they were outside in the square when I arrived, and I suggested they should probably come in now".

"Miss Denham, what is the meaning of this?", Lady Augusta demanded.

"I were pining, mum", said Mary desperately. "Pining for the fields and streams of home. My head was fair in a whirl, and I felt all faint, like. I don't knows how it happened, but before I knew it, I was out in the square, and Miss Denham was telling me to be a sensible girl, mum".

"She ran outside, Lady Augusta, and I was trying to help her", Susanna put in.

Lady Augusta examined Mary's pale face carefully, and ran the back of her hand over her forehead. "The girl is all in a perspiration – one would think she had been walking an hour or more!". Susanna looked stricken, but then Lady Augusta said, "Mary, please be honest with me. Are you quite well at the moment?".

Mary burst into immediate tears. "Oh mum, I ent had a proper night's sleep since we came to London. It's so hot with the windows closed, and the noise in the street goes on around the clock. And our youngest, Dickie, he were ill when I left, and I've had no word of him, and I can't help worrying".

Lady Augusta, who would have been severe or even harsh with a maid who was pert and saucy, could be surprisingly gentle with one like Mary. She put her hand on Mary's shoulder, and said, "Go upstairs, Mary, and spend the rest of the day in bed. You're tired and over-strained, and have been working yourself up into a fever".

Lady Augusta gave orders that the youngest kitchen maid, Annie, who was fourteen, should go up with Mary, help her wash and undress, make sure that she was well supplied with cool drinks and light meals throughout the day, and keep her from fretting.

“When you run your own household, Miss Denham, let this be a lesson to you to keep an eye on your maids, especially young ones”, Lady Augusta advised Susanna. “They are in our care, and you can't neglect them, any more than you would your pet dog at home”.

“Yes, Lady Augusta”, said Susanna meekly, too scared to say she actually preferred cats.

“I shall write to your father this morning, and make enquiries about Mary's youngest brother – Dickie, did she say his name was?”, Lady Augusta went on. “If he has made a recovery, that may ease her mind. And Howard, you'd better stay to breakfast, now you're here”.

“How very kind of you invite me”, said Howard, giving a twinkling smile at Susanna.

It was not much longer before they were all sitting down to a breakfast of Chelsea buns and hot chocolate in the drawing room. Mrs Denham had come downstairs, shocked to hear of Mary's sudden physical and mental breakdown.

“We always knew she wasn't strong, that's why we had her trained as a lady's maid”, said Mrs Denham. “But the poor girl has been very silly to get herself into a fret over her baby brother – if it had been _bad_ news, we would have received word”.

“I was telling Miss Denham that when she is mistress of her own establishment, she will have to learn how to manage her staff”, Lady Augusta said.

“Oh well, she will pick it up, like everyone else”, said Mrs Denham comfortably. “No one will expect you to know everything all at once, Susanna. I'm sure Lord Moon will agree with me”.

“I believe you are right, Mrs Denham”, Howard said politely. “I have been managing my estate for five years now, and still have much to learn. My steward has been an invaluable source of information, and I expect Miss Denham will learn a great deal from her housekeeper, when the time comes”.

“I hope my housekeeper can make delicious buns like these, Lady Augusta”, Susanna said, in an effort to curry favour.

“Thank you, Miss Denham. Of course, Howard is known in his neighbourhood for treating his servants very well”, Lady Augusta informed them.

“I try to deal with my people fairly”, Howard said. “But I wouldn't know anything about the maids, for example. They could all be on the brink of despair and I wouldn't notice”.

“You need a wife for that”, Lady Augusta said sagely.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a young man with maids on his staff must be in search of a wife to manage them”, Howard said with a smile at Susanna, who bit her underlip to stop herself laughing.

“Stop talking nonsense, Howard”, Lady Augusta ordered. “I hope you are all prepared for the ball my cousin Elizabeth Manners is giving for Miss Denham”.

“What ball?”, said Howard absently, idly adding cream to his hot chocolate.

“Now, Howard. The invitations were sent out weeks ago”, Lady Augusta reprimanded him. “Elizabeth – the Duchess of Rutland, you know – was kind enough to offer to give a coming out ball for Miss Denham, since there is no ballroom here”.

“It's next Saturday”, said Mrs Denham, “and we couldn't be more grateful to the duchess. I never, never thought one of my daughters would have her coming out ball at a great house”.

“You can dance with Miss Denham at the ball”, Lady Augusta said to Howard.

“It is for the lady to agree to dance”, Howard said to Lady Augusta, before adding, “And perhaps you would also like to dance? And Mrs Denham?”.

“You're being ridiculous, Howard”, said Lady Augusta, but she looked rather pleased, and for the rest of Howard's visit, the ball was all anyone could talk of.

****************************************

The next evening, Howard called on Vince at his townhouse in Piccadilly, having got the address from his butler, Barley, who seemed rather against the idea of Howard going there. In the end, Howard had spoken to him sharply, and left the house feeling on edge.

Howard had brought the poetry books with him, and planned to use his visit as an excuse to return them, and to apologise for abandoning Vince at the Park after their ride. He hoped Vince might offer him a coffee, or a brandy, and beyond that he did not let his imagination pass. He did have an idea that Vince's company would be very pleasant, and that even an hour spent alone with him would lift his spirits considerably.

Howard walked up the front steps and knocked on the door, noticing that Vince's townhouse was rather grander than his own London address. The first shock was that the butler who opened the door to him appeared to be a young boy dressed in a Persian robe and turban. Howard decided he must have been brought over from India, until the butler spoke in a Cockney accent.

“Get out”.

“I beg your pardon?”, gasped Howard, because this was the opposite of what a butler was supposed to do.

“It ain't safe here, you need to get out”, the boy repeated, his strange dark eyes boring into Howard as if trying to back up his words with mesmerism.

“But I have some books belonging to Lord Noir!”, Howard protested. He stepped into the hallway of the townhouse.

“Thanks. I'll take 'em. See that he gets 'em”, the boy-butler said, taking the books from Howard's hand with the speed of a prestidigitator. "Now get out".

"I really must object", Howard said, drawing himself up to his full height and speaking in his best not-to-be-brooked lordly tone. "I have business with Lord Noir this evening".

"Oh yeah? What business?", asked the butler sceptically. "I never heard you was expected".

Howard glanced around the hallway, and noticed the walls were covered in peculiar artwork featuring colourful beasts, humans, and some indecipherable figures, all on black backgrounds. In the dim lighting, there was something unsettling about it. There was a mysterious incense in the air, perhaps from the Orient, musky and sweet. And from the floors above him came the sound of distant voices. Howard couldn't make out any words, but he thought the voices were male, and might have been chanting.

The butler's voice was gentler now, seeing the fear and uncertainty in Howard's eyes.

“Get out, okay? Leave now and don't come back again. It ain't safe here, yeah?”.

Howard backed out of the doorway, and almost ran down the steps into the street. He walked home quickly, feeling idiotic as he glanced over his shoulder every few minutes to see if he was being followed.

The rumours he had heard about Vince came back to him. _Secret societies … hashish and opium … black magic … the occult … devil worship_. It had all seemed so ludicrous at Bainbridge's supper, but not so unbelievable now that he had actually been to Vince's townhouse. _His servants don't even seem human._ There had certainly been something rather otherworldly about the tiny butler, a young boy with the eyes of an ancient prophet and the mouth of a street trader.

Even though the evening was warm, Howard suddenly shivered, and without realising it, began twisting his wrist, feeling the burn against his skin that helped his panic stay under control. He would go home, and call for the brandy he had hoped to enjoy with Vince. He would drink again and again, until his valet had to help him into bed.

That night his dreams were ill, full of faceless men, hooded and masked in black, doing unmentionable things with instruments beyond his ken. Secrets and signs, occult markings, and a dull monotonous chant in a language never heard on Earth. Ending with a final image of Tommy's ruined face, a warning to Howard not to get close to anyone, for they would only rot and die and leave him alone and loveless once more.

Howard woke with a vicious hangover, a case of the blue devils, and a fervent desire never to see Vince again.

****************************************

“How are you enjoying your coming out ball, Miss Denham?”, Howard said to Susanna, as they took to the floor for the first dance.

“I'm not a woman of fashion”, Susanna said with a little grimace.

“And I'm a man who loathes society”, said Howard. “And yet here we are, at a big fashionable society ball”.

“There was a terrible part at the beginning”, Susanna said, “where I had to stand on a dais next to the duchess and smile and shake everyone's hand as they came in. It felt like hours”.

“That sounds like a dreadful experience”, said Howard sincerely.

“It's only the first dance, and I'm already exhausted”, Susanna complained.

“Physical exhaustion obviously suits you”, said Howard, in an attempt at gallantry.

Susanna snorted, and said, “I feel like such a ninnyhammer, and I'm afraid nobody else will dance with me for the rest of the ball”.

“Oh you won't have any trouble getting dance partners”, Howard said, before adding, “not when the ball is in your honour”.

Howard was surprised to discover he was rather enjoying dancing with Susanna. She was wearing a heavenly perfume that smelt of stephanotis, jasmine, and orange blossom. Her freshly curled golden hair wreathed in red roses reminded him of his pet spaniel, and when they touched she felt soft and rather cuddlesome, like a little dog you stroke absentmindedly on your lap while you read a book.

And she was a good dancer, light on her feet, taking quick steps in her white satin slippers. Howard was having something of a crash course in female fashion, and he thought Susanna's ballgown was very silly and very pretty; a light silk frock covered in blue gauze, the hem heavily embroidered with roses and pearls, the tiny bodice displaying her breasts to perfection.

Howard had been right – Susanna had no trouble finding dance partners, and was asked by gentleman after gentleman all night. She was young and pretty, danced beautifully, and the ball was in her honour.

Howard danced sedately with both Mrs Denham and Lady Augusta, and then felt that he had done his duty. However, an elderly man who he assumed was one of the Manners family urged him to look around, there were so many pretty girls going without partners, and it was too bad of a young man not to take care of them if he could.

In this way, Howard was introduced to a pair of sisters, the Misses Davis. Julia was clever and serious, Charlotte was lively with a wicked sense of humour. They were both beautiful and easy to converse with, and Howard danced with each of them. He went on to dance with an American heiress named Divinia Collimore, a Junoesque brunette who combined obscene wealth with being a diamond of the first water.

Howard was starting to think he'd been foolish about young ladies. They weren't alarming in the least, but only people, like himself. They were pretty, they were soft, they were fragile. They wore adorably ridiculous clothing, they smelt delicious, and were capable of rational conversation on all manner of subjects. They could be witty, they could be charming, they could even be, perhaps, alluring.

Howard was in the middle of advising Miss Collimore where she could buy pens and paper of superior quality in London when Vince arrived at the ball, predictably late, predictably surrounded by his usual entourage of fops and women of easy virtue, and predictably dressed in an outrageous pink suit, trimmed with feathers.

“Who is that fantastical creature?”, Miss Collimore asked in amazement, gesturing at Vince.

“I'm afraid I have no knowledge of him”, said Howard with a bare glance in Vince's direction.

It was only a little later that Howard remembered to check on Susanna to make sure she was enjoying herself, and saw that she was dancing with Vince. When Lady Augusta had specifically told her to avoid the man at all costs, Howard fumed to himself. And they were waltzing together, it looked positively indecent, the way their bodies were pressed together. Why, he was turning Miss Denham into something resembling a common whore, Howard thought in indignation.

Vince was an even better dancer than he was a rider. He was graceful and energetic, and there was something seductive about the way he held his partner close, yet teasingly remained aloof from her. He leaned close to whisper in Susanna's ear, and she blushed and suppressed a giggle. Susanna's eyes sparkled as she danced, her lips partly open, as if waiting for Vince to kiss her. Howard hardly knew which one he was jealous of; he only knew that he grew angrier and angrier at both of them as the dance continued.

At the conclusion of the dance, Vince bowed deeply to Susanna, and positively swaggered past Howard as he left the floor, without acknowledging him.

“You look like a flamingo”, Howard said spitefully as Vince passed him.

Vince replied with scorn, “And you look exactly like everyone else”.

Howard had expected Vince to make a friendly or teasing answer, and was taken aback.

“I returned your books, Lord Noir”, Howard said at last.

“That's what you do when you sicken of something is it?”, Vince said coldly. “You throw it away as if it never existed”.

“I didn't throw your books away!”, Howard said with some heat. “I finished them and returned them”.

“I see. You've finished with them now you have no further use for them”. There was no disguising the hurt in Vince's tone now.

“They weren't mine”, Howard said, feeling absurd to defend himself when he'd done nothing wrong, when he was the one wronged against.

“Did you like Keats?”, Vince asked, as if trying to control his voice.

“Yes, I did”, Howard said. “His poetry was beautiful, but I don't think I understood it very well”.

“I don't think you understand very much at all, Lord Moon”, Vince said, his blue eyes shining as if they held unshed tears.

“I'm afraid not”, Howard agreed.

“I believe our understanding to be at an end, Lord Moon”, Vince said with finality, and just as he turned away, added, “And I don't think you have any business to be marrying Miss Denham”.

“How dare you, sir!”, gasped Howard in shock. “You know nothing of the matter, which is entirely between myself and Miss Denham”.

“Don't be surprised if you find someone else is involved”, Vince advised him patronisingly.

“I suppose you mean yourself”, Howard said sourly. “I don't think Miss Denham has any interest in a chattering popinjay”.

“She's not interested in a coward who knows nothing of women, neither”, said Vince in a temper. “You're frightened of women. You're frightened of me. The big, bad Wicked Baron”.

Vince stalked off on glittering high heels, flicking his long hair behind him with one hand, his lips coloured red, scarlet blooms in an angry white face.

****************************************

Howard took Susanna to the lavish supper and danced with her again, knowing that by doing so he had more or less announced his intention to propose to her at some stage. He took Susanna home in his carriage, answering Lady Augusta's and Mrs Denham's questions with polite vagueness. He escorted the ladies to their front door, promising to call in two days time. He then told his driver to take him home.

Once undressed by his valet for the night and alone in his bedroom, Howard was free to go over the events of the ball, but found himself thinking only of Vince. He was humiliated that he and Vince had been seen arguing in public like a pair of queans in the street, and so furious with Vince he barely knew why.

How dare he act as if Howard was the one who abandoned him! Pretending that Howard had done something wrong! How dare he tell Howard not to marry Miss Denham! It was none of his business! How dare he dance with her as if she was one of his strumpets, pushing his body against hers like a predatory panther! Making her purr like a kitten as she opened to him!

And that ridiculous suit, wearing things just because they were beautiful, made _him_ beautiful. Flaunting his plump round little buttocks at everyone; Howard longed to pull down the pink suit and smack them. His hand was between his legs now, and he stroked himself as he thought of how he'd love to teach that minx a lesson. That little brat, that painted whore, that sly rogue … he wanted to pull on that thick, silky hair, bite that pure white throat that smelt so exquisitely of lily-of-the-valley.

Oh God oh God. How dare he make decent gentlemen like Howard desire him? It must be by magic, for what other than black magic would make Howard want Vince, would force him to picture himself shoving Vince up a wall in a back alley, their bellies lewdly against each other, their limbs entwined as Howard moaned desperately in Vince's ear, begged Vince to give him release. Oh God.

As he spent himself and cleaned it up, Howard realised that if nothing else, he now knew exactly how he felt about Vince. The knowledge hung heavy on him, but for once he got a good night's sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Walking an hour or more: Soho Square is about half an hour's walk from Hyde Park, so Mary's had an hour walk just getting there and back, plus more walking in the park.
> 
> There are many references to the weather being hot, to the point it can be used as an excuse for feeling faint or unwell. The summer of 1818 was extremely dry, and the weather hotter than usual, and London would have been even hotter for these characters, who are all from the country.
> 
> Chelsea buns: A type of currant bun which is rolled into a square spiral shape, then glazed with sugar after baking. A creation of the Old Chelsea Bun House in Jew's Row, Pimlico (now Royal Hospital Road in Chelsea), which began trading in the early 18th century. It was patronised by royalty, and very successful until it closed in 1839. 
> 
> Steward: the estate manager, who handles the business side of the estate, including collecting rents from tenants.
> 
> Not everyone was cruel to their servants – books of household management recommended treating them with kindness in order to create a happy work environment and home. Lady Augusta, Howard, and Mrs Denham all seem to have vaguely good intentions as employers.
> 
> Howard jokingly misquotes the famous first line of “Pride and Prejudice” (1813), which both he and Susanna have obviously read. They wouldn't have known the name Jane Austen, as the novels were published anonymously in her lifetime.
> 
> Elizabeth Manners (1780-1825) was the Duchess of Rutland at this time, and one of the Howards by birth. She probably isn't Lady Augusta's first cousin, and the word is no doubt being used loosely. The ball she gives would have been at Rutland House in Knightsbridge. Built in the mid 18th century, it was demolished in 1836, and Rutland Gate, a double square of grand houses around two communal green spaces, built in its stead.
> 
> Susanna is wearing another Floris perfume called Stephanotis, dating to 1786, and still sold today. With notes of orange blossom, stephanotis, jasmine, and lily-of-the-valley, it is meant to smell like all the traditional flowers in a bride's bouquet. Very suitable for someone who is supposed to be husband-shopping!
> 
> Susanna's ball gown is copied from a fashion plate in “La Belle Assemblée" from the summer of 1818. Bodices had become smaller and smaller during the Regency period, showing more and more bosom. 
> 
> Private balls were popular because there was no need to be chaperoned – you trusted that your hostess had only invited suitable people who knew how to behave themselves. And because everyone came by invitation, that was considered enough of an introduction, so you could actually approach complete strangers and chat to them! Social freedom at last. 
> 
> It was a gentleman's duty in a ballroom to dance with any lady who didn't have a partner. Remember how rude Mr Darcy was considered for refusing to dance with Elizabeth because she wasn't pretty enough? Howard could have gone to play cards to get out of dancing, but that would have been rude to Susanna – as her escort, he is supposed to take care of her all night, even at a distance.
> 
> The Davis sisters are both Julia – her middle name is Charlotte. The sisters show the two different sides of Julia's character (both equally enchanting). 
> 
> Divinia Collimore represents pencil case girl, played by Diva Zappa (Collimore is her paternal grandmother's name). It's a nod to the Caton sisters of Baltimore, who arrived in London in 1816, and immediately caused a sensation with their beauty, plantation heritage, and old money. Louisa Caton went on to marry the Duke of Leeds, Marianne married the Duke of Wellington's brother, and Bess married Baron Stafford. 
> 
> Vince's pink suit is based on a real one, worn by a famous fop. It caused such a sensation that it was still being gossiped about a decade later.
> 
> The waltz was only just now beginning to be accepted as a dance in respectable homes. Howard is not alone in finding the waltz indecent – Lord Byron would have agreed with him, and he was hardly a prude. Regency waltzing was a great deal more intimate and sensual than the dance we know today. 
> 
> For a gentleman to dance with the same lady twice at the same event was considered a sign that he was signalling his interest in her.
> 
> SLANG  
> blue devils: depression  
> diamond of the first water: a stunningly beautiful woman  
> popinjay: a vain, conceited man who cares of nothing but his own appearance  
> queans: prostitutes


	9. The Consequences of Lady Coniston's Conversazione

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard is invited to Lady Coniston's conversazione, to discuss music. The evening will have important consequences that change Howard's relationships forever.

The London season continued, June slipping easily into July, the weather continuing warm and balmy. Howard called in to see Susanna every second day, and twice a week, Mrs Denham permitted him to escort her daughter to various events and landmarks around the city, accompanied by either herself or Lady Augusta as chaperon. It was generally accepted that Howard would propose to Susanna by the end of the season; wise heads expected a big engagement ball before Christmas, and a wedding after Easter, followed by an Italian honeymoon.

Howard did not see Vince again. He rode in the Park very early each morning, before anyone else was out. He sent his valet or a footman to do his shopping, and got Brooks to cut his hair and shave him. He was careful never to go down Piccadilly alone, and rarely strolled in Green Park for more than a short time. On the days he didn't see Susanna, he either went to his club, or stayed in his study, reading and thinking. He had arranged to watch the Eton-Harrow match at Lord's with Bainbridge at the end of the month, which he looked forward to with mixed feelings.

At a dinner party, Howard had been seated next to Eleanor, Lady Coniston, a handsome dark woman recently married to one of Lady Augusta's many cousins. He must have made a good impression, because Lady Coniston invited him to her next _conversazione_ , in the middle of the month. They were always held on a Friday, as that was the day of the week dedicated to love – and only those who truly _loved_ the arts were welcome.

"You see, Howard – you don't mind me calling you Howard, do you? I feel that we are friends already", she said warmly. "I simply _live_ for music. Music is my one passion, and if I can meet just a few people who share my passion, and we can all share our thoughts together, well, I can't think of anything more pure and perfect, can you?".

Howard found it hard to follow Lady Coniston's argument, but agreed readily that he also loved music, and would be happy to attend her _conversazione_ , if he could bring his friend Miss Denham, who was a noted music-lover. Lady Coniston seemed less enthused about this idea, but graciously said each genuine lover of music would only serve to make the evening more special.

Lady Augusta wasn't thrilled by Howard's invitation, and flatly refused to go.

“Really, I can't imagine why Coniston ever married her”, Lady Augusta said with a slight shudder. “A vulgar American, and already in middle age”.

“She's twenty years younger than him, and it's a second marriage for both of them”, Howard said reasonably. “She doesn't seem vulgar to me, merely er, ardent in her support for the arts”.

Lady Augusta gave a sniff, which meant that Howard had a lot to learn about women. “I think we all know what decided Coniston”, she said icily. “Thank goodness _most_ of the men in my family don't need to marry rich widows for their money”.

****************************************

On the evening of the _conversazione_ , Mrs Denham was confined to her bed with a sick headache, and Lady Augusta was forced to play chaperon, which put her in a temper. Only the bonds of family would induce her to cross Lady Coniston's threshold. Although even Lady Augusta would have to admit, if only privately, that Lord and Lady Coniston's classically designed Knightsbridge villa, set in its own formal gardens, showed that Lady Coniston's taste was not vulgar.

When they arrived, they were shown into a large downstairs room which had a stage set up for performance, surrounded by chairs. On seeing the other guests, Howard began to feel some misgivings. Apart from a few elderly music professors designed to add _gravitas_ , nearly all the guests were handsome young men. Howard felt something twist in his stomach when he realised that one of them was Vince, although both of them studiously ignored the other.

“Howard, I'm so glad you came”, Lady Coniston exclaimed with outstretched hands. “You must sit next to me, amongst the ladies, and explain everything to us”.

“I'm sure Professor Langstrom would be far better at that, Lady Coniston”, Howard protested, but sat down next to his hostess obediently.

Professor Langstrom opened proceedings with a short lecture on music, and then opened it up to general conversation. Howard felt fairly confident here, as he flattered himself he knew a fair amount about music.

“What I like is the movement from the Baroque period to the Classical, where the polyphonic modality gave way to the clearer melodies of the homophony”, he began enthusiastically.

“Fascinating”, said Lady Coniston, as Vince openly yawned. “I simply worship Gluck. Do you worship him too, Howard?”.

“Well, not literally. I mean, not putting up a golden Gluck on a mountain top and bowing down to it or anything”, said Howard nervously.

Lady Coniston laughed, saying, “Howard, you are too amusing for words. You should write a book explaining music to ladies, called _The Intelligent Woman's Guide to Music_ ”.

Vince snorted, and said, “Beethoven is a Romantic pioneer. He _invented_ music”.

“Goodness, but what about all that came before?”, gasped Lady Coniston.

“That was just tuning up”, Vince said smugly.

“Lord Noir, your views are always so bold, so original!”, said Lady Coniston admiringly.

“ _Sonata quasi una fantasia_ , that's nothing but a gloomy racket”, Howard said under his breath.

After the conversation, there was a musical interlude; a musician hired to play one of Hummel's violin concertos. Howard stiffened when he realised it was the man Susanna had spoken to in the Park, and that Susanna was listening to his music with parted lips, her eyes gazing at the musician in a way which could only be described as “adoring”.

“You're quite right, Howard. Miss Denham clearly worships music”, Lady Coniston whispered to Howard, who silently ground his teeth. Lady Augusta was quietly snoring by now.

After the interlude, Lady Coniston served refreshments, and encouraged her guests to circulate, and share their musical thoughts freely. She was a little too inclined to hover around Howard, and he could feel that they were slowly getting closer and closer to Vince. Afraid that they were going to be drawn into the same conversation, Howard abruptly went through the open side doors into the garden outside, claiming a sudden need for fresh air.

The full moon lit up the garden with a clear but alien beauty, quite different to the warm gaslight within. Howard wandered about the lovely garden, enjoying the cooler air, until he pulled back, seeing a couple sitting on a garden bench. To his astonishment, he soon realised it was Miss Denham and the violinist, their hands clasped, as they spoke urgently to each other in low tones. He strode over, and sternly addressed himself to the violinist.

“Mr Corner, you forget yourself, sir!”.

There was a strangled noise, and then Mr Corner said, “I'm so sorry, Miss Denham. If you have any pity on me at all, please do not tell Lady Coniston of this, Lord Moon”. He then hurried indoors, his shoulders hunched miserably.

Howard sat next to Susanna instead, and said in a dignified manner, “Miss Denham, I believe you owe me some kind of explanation”.

He was waiting for an angry retort, a sullen mutiny, or even craven pleading, but instead Susanna gasped and fell on Howard's shoulder, crying tearfully, “Oh, Lord Moon! If you only knew the aching misery of not being allowed to marry the person you love, you would understand!”.

He patted her on the back rather awkwardly, just as Lady Augusta came out to get some fresh air. Seeing Susanna lying in Howard's arms under romantic moonlight, she smiled to herself and tiptoed back inside, very pleased with her godson.

“I … I'm not completely unfamiliar with the concept”, said Howard quietly. “I think if you told me about it, I would understand”.

“I've been in love with Christopher for three years now”, she sniffed. “He was my first singing master, and even though I was only fifteen, I pledged myself to him, and promised to marry him as soon as I was able”.

“And how old was Mr Corner?”, Howard asked.

“He's ten years older than me”, sniffed Susanna. “But when Mama and Papa found out about our secret engagement, they … they were terribly angry, and sent Chris away, and got me a new singing master”.

“I'm not surprised”, said Howard drily. “But you will be free to marry whomever you like when you are twenty-one. You've waited three years; you must wait three years more”.

“But now Mama talks of nothing but me marrying someone else”, wept Susanna. “She hopes … she hopes _you_ will marry me, and if you don't, she will only think of someone else I should marry. I don't know if I can endure three years of this”.

“Miss Denham”, said Howard timidly. “What if you were to marry me and … you were able to … visit Mr Corner? Discreetly, I mean”.

“But why would you do that?”, asked Susanna, wiping her eyes and looking at Howard curiously.

“Well, I would still have a pretty wife, and we get along quite well”, Howard said shyly. “And perhaps … perhaps you wouldn't mind me visiting other people from time to time. Discreetly, of course”.

Susanna gave a stifled little shriek and began sobbing in earnest. “That's horrible! I want my husband to, to … love me, and I want to be with Chris all the time, openly and unashamed, and I want … I want to have children with him”. She buried her face in his shoulder.

Howard patted her head in contrition. “Yes, of course you do. Stupid idea. I'm sorry. Um … why don't we meet with Mr Corner tomorrow? Ah … see what can be arranged?”.

Susanna looked up at Howard in disbelieving joy. “You'd do that for me? Oh, Howard! I could almost marry you right now!”. She kissed Howard on the cheek.

There was a tiny cough, and then Lady Augusta said, “Miss Denham, perhaps we should go in now. You'll catch a chill in that thin dress”.

Susanna went with her at once, looking back with dewy eyes at Howard, who was wondering what on earth he'd got himself into. Lady Augusta was also looking back, and smiling at him approvingly.

****************************************

Howard had barely got in the door before Lady Coniston pounced on him.

“Howard! There you are”, she said. “I want you to come up to my private drawing room. I've got something special to show you”.

Howard feebly tried to induce Lady Coniston to bring the object downstairs and show him, but she was inexorable in leading him by the arm upstairs. She had a surprising strength to her that meant that Howard would have needed to physically fight her to get away, and this of course, was impossible for a gentleman to do.

At the top of the stairs, she led Howard into a room which had a large double bed in it.

“This is a bedroom”, Howard protested, still trying to pull away.

“It's my private drawing room”, Lady Coniston insisted, locking the door behind her. “I have a bed in here in case I become tired”.

“Er, so what did you want to show me? An original libretto by Gluck, I think you said?”, Howard asked stiffly.

“Oh, Howard. We're too old to play games”, Lady Coniston said, sounding world-weary. “There is no libretto”.

“Too old? I'm only twenty-six!”, Howard exclaimed.

“Really? I thought you were about thirty”, shrugged Lady Coniston. “Anyway, let's not play games with each other. I want you Howard, and I'm pretty sure you want me”.

She moved close to Howard, and he noticed with alarm that her buxom figure was poured into a tight wine-coloured dress that left little to the imagination.

“Lady Coniston! Please, remember you are a married woman”, Howard said sharply.

“Oh, won't you call me Eleanor, Howard darling?”, Lady Coniston sighed, putting her arms around his neck. “And remember I am a woman in the prime of life, with a woman's needs. Hot, throbbing, molten womanly needs”.

“Lady Coniston, this is very unseemly”, Howard said in a panic, trying to remove Lady Coniston's arms from around his neck.

“Howard, I need you”, Lady Coniston begged brokenly. “Please, give me some love squeezing”.

“Um, this is all … very flattering”, Howard lied, trying to disentangle himself from Lady Coniston without touching her massive bosom, which seemed to be everywhere at once. “But it's all come as a complete surprise to me”.

Lady Coniston's expression instantly went from lustful to cunning.

“You're going to be married soon”, she said in a calculating way. “Everyone says it. Yet you know nothing of women. Let me teach you, Howard. I can give you a full education in the ways of a woman's body, so that you know how to bring your wife to the most exquisite pleasure”.

A look of revulsion came over Howard's face. “I can assure you, Lady Coniston, any lady I marry will have more important things on her mind than bodily pleasure”, he said coldly.

He thrust Lady Coniston away from him, so hard that she fell onto the bed, giving a hopeful moan of anticipation as she did so. Being thrown on a bed by Howard seemed like the start of something very enjoyable. However, Howard ran to the door, struggling with the lock until he turned it, then raced down the corridor. Knowing Lady Coniston would soon come after him, he hid behind some heavy curtains that fell to the floor, and stood there shaking after his ordeal.

The usual wave of panic came over him, and he was twisting his wrist until it burned, while simultaneously placing his forehead against the window to cool it down. The horror of being touched against his will rose in his chest, until he felt faint and nauseated. He was almost in tears when the curtain quietly parted, and someone else stood beside him, closing the curtains around both of them.

“You alright, Howard?”, asked Vince in concern. “I saw you get dragged upstairs and you never came back, so I … was worried”.

“That dreadful woman”, Howard said in a low voice, unable even to say her name. “She … she _touched_ me, and … and demanded that I give her _pleasure_ ”.

Vince gave a giggle that turned into a snort. “Howard, you jingle-brains. She wanted you to be her cissi-boy. Didn't you know?”.

“Well, she must want you to be as well”, Howard countered. “Otherwise she wouldn't have asked you here”.

“Yeah, but she _really_ wants you, Howard”, Vince said. “I could tell. She was looking at you like a hungry cat staring at a sparrow”.

“Vince, I did something terrible”, Howard confessed in a shaking voice. “I … I used violence against a lady. I pushed her away so hard that she fell on the bed”.

Vince chuckled. “Bet she loved that”, he said with relish. “Would have been a real thrill for her. And she can't have been hurt if she fell on the bed”.

“No, but I didn't behave as a gentleman”, said Howard weepily. “I should have let her down gently”.

Vince cautiously put a loose arm around Howard. “Never mind about her any more. She'll be alright. Howard, I've missed you”.

“I missed you too, little man”, Howard admitted, placing his cool forehead against Vince's warm one.

“I want us to be friends”, Vince said, carefully moving closer, so that his arm was tighter around Howard's waist.

“I want that as well”, Howard said, timidly putting an arm around Vince's shoulder.

The only light was from the moon flooding in the window, but that was enough for him to see Vince's face. It looked impossibly young in moonlight; vulnerable, and very pale.

“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”, Vince asked, sounding unsure of himself.

“Yes”, Howard whispered. “Come to my house at eight o'clock. I'll be expecting you”.

Vince's face got closer and closer. For a moment, Howard was afraid Vince was going to kiss him, but instead he only brushed his lips against Howard's, so quickly that Howard was not quite sure it ever happened.

**_Garden Front of Chiswick House_ , by John Gendall (c 1820)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eton playing cricket against its rival school Harrow is the oldest cricket fixture in the world. It first happened in 1805, with 1818 their first official re-match. Eton won in 1818, the first time it was played at Lord's cricket ground.
> 
> A conversazione was a Regency entertainment, the details of which I have been unable to discover. However, it was an evening dedicated to discussing topics such as art and music, nearly always enlivened with musical performances and even dancing.
> 
> Lady Coniston holds her conversaziones every Friday, because traditionally that is the day dedicated to Venus, and therefore love. It's an allusion to Emily, Lady Salisbury (1750-1835), who held her conversaziones every Sunday. 
> 
> It's a slight anachronism having a rich American wife, as the Caton sisters were the first American heiresses in London, in 1816. However, Louisa Caton was actually a widow in her thirties by the time she married the Duke of Leeds, so it's not unprecedented. 
> 
> sick headache: migraine. Even more miserable in the past, when there was no effective treatment except dark, rest, and waiting for it to pass.
> 
> The Coniston's villa and gardens is based on Chiswick House, in the western suburbs of London, owned by the Cavendish family at this stage. I've placed it in Knightsbridge simply to make it more accessible – Chiswick would have been the country in the Regency period. 
> 
> Lady Coniston worships Christoph Gluck (1714-1787) who composed Italian and French operas at the Habsburg court in Vienna. A great influence on both Mozart and Berlioz. Vince is a fan of early Romantic German composer Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827). In 1801 he wrote “Piano Sonata 14 Quasi una fantasia”, which much later became known as the “Moonlight Sonata”. Mr Corner plays a violin concerto by Austrian composer Johann Hummel (1778-1837). Although his work quickly went out of fashion, he was once hugely popular, and is being re-evaluated. 
> 
> Lady Coniston suggests that Howard might write a music book for ladies, the suggested title very similar to G.B. Shaw's “The Intelligent Woman's Guide to Socialism and Capitalism” (1928).
> 
> The full moon was on the night of Friday 17th July 1818.
> 
> The age of majority was 21, upon which age women were free to marry who they chose. Susanna is 18, and must marry her parents' choice. Keeping up the charade of attracting men she doesn't want is obviously getting to her already.
> 
> Howard tentatively suggests an open marriage to Susanna. When people married without love, or even physical attraction, all sorts of creative arrangements were thought up. It's interesting that so many married couples lived with another man or woman in this era (even honeymooned with them), although whether lover to him, her, both, or neither cannot always be established now. 
> 
> cissi-boy: a young man who is financially supported by an older woman in exchange for becoming her lover. It was considered a weak and “unmanly” thing to do, but for gentlemen with no money or prospects, could give them a leg-up in the world.


	10. The Baron Takes Lord Moon to Dinner and His Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard meddles in Susanna's marriage plans, then joins Vince for dinner and a night at his club, with unexpected results.

Howard had thought again and again about how he and Susanna could meet with Mr Corner, and in the end there was only one thing he could do, although he felt it was very dishonest. He put on his best suit and arrived at Soho Square not long after midday with a bouquet of pink carnations for Mrs Denham.

"I do hope you are feeling better", he said sympathetically. “I was sorry to hear you are not in good health”.

"Oh, I am quite recovered, thank you, Lord Moon", said Mrs Denham, although in fact she looked fragile and washed out. "And how kind of you to bring me flowers! Carnations are amongst my favourites".

Howard shifted nervously in his chair. "Mrs Denham, would you permit me to take Miss Denham for a short walk?”, he said, trying to make his little brown eyes look as innocent and guileless as possible. “Alone?”.

Mrs Denham looked almost stricken with joy and excitement, incoherently gasping, “Oh, but this is sooner than I thought!”.

“I can come back later, if you wish”, said the uncomprehending Howard, to which Mrs Denham gave a noise rather like a spluttered giggle, and said, “That's quite alright, Lord Moon. I will have Susanna fetched down at once”.

There were a few minutes rather distracted conversation with Mrs Denham, who couldn't seem to attend to anything, and then Susanna came downstairs, her hair very conveniently curled, and with the foresight to put on her prettiest walking dress. It was blue French cambric, trimmed with lace, and with a white silk bonnet to match.

“Susanna, Lord Moon would like … that is to say, if you would not mind … it's earlier than we ever imagined, but even so ...”, Mrs Denham gabbled to her daughter.

Susanna gave an enquiring look at Howard, who said, “Miss Denham, I would be obliged if you would step out with me for a while”.

“Of course, Lord Moon”, said Susanna, her eyes cast down meekly.

Howard allowed her to go through the front door ahead of him, then took her arm as they began parading around the square together.

“Where does Mr Corner live?”, Howard asked in a soft voice.

“Not far. In Frith Street”, said Susanna.

In a few minutes they had arrived at a newly built house that had been painted yellow. Howard knocked sharply on the door, which was opened by Mr Corner himself.

Upon seeing Howard, he said, “You haven't come to challenge me to a duel, have you?”.

“It wouldn't be at all a fair fight”, Howard said. “I am a Cambridge boxing blue, and you're at least six inches shorter than I am. May we come in, please?”.

Mr Corner ushered them through as he greeted Susanna, into what Howard supposed was a drawing room that was being used as a music work room. The house was clean, but rather chaotic, and everything was plain and cheap-looking. At least, this was how it appeared to Howard, who was used to old houses and expensive furnishings, kept tidy and organised by a team of experienced servants. He could barely imagine Susanna living here.

“Mr Corner, I have reason to believe that you and Miss Denham contracted a private engagement some three years ago”, began Howard.

“Yes, that's right”, replied Mr Corner. “I was Sue's music and singing master, and we … I fell in love with her almost at once. It was only a few months since we met when we each promised to marry the other as soon as we were able”.

“Not very prudent?”, suggested Howard.

Susanna looked vexed, and Mr Corner flushed. “I daresay”, he said, looking at the floor. “Sue's parents dismissed me at once, and so did all the parents of my students. I was let go from the assembly rooms where I played in the orchestra for dances. Then I had to leave my lodgings in Harpenden. It was quite the scandal, I can tell you”.

“You said nothing had ever happened to you!”, Howard said to Susanna, almost accusingly.

“It was my fault, the whole thing”, Susanna said quietly. “I wrote something about Chris in my diary. I was a young ninnyhammer, and Mama read it. Then she told Papa, and everything came out”.

“I suppose that's when you came to London”, Howard said to Mr Corner.

“No choice”, Mr Corner said. “I couldn't get work anywhere in Hertfordshire, so I went to London where nobody knew me or cared. I got work, I saved as much as I could for my future with Sue. I had to believe, you see, that we _had_ a future”.

“It would really be best, you know, if you waited until Miss Denham was twenty-one”, Howard said mildly.

“I know”, said Mr Corner. “Three more years, I'd have more to offer her. I'm getting some big commissions now, and I've started getting my own compositions published”.

“Chris is so very talented, you see”, Susanna said to Howard, looking at Mr Corner as if the sun rose and set at his command.

“Miss Denham seems very keen to marry you as soon as possible”, Howard said. “Being forced into the company of gentlemen such as myself appears to have set her mind more firmly on it”.

Susanna blushed, and Mr Corner said, “It's not that, Lord Moon. I'm going to Vienna later this year. Lady Coniston has been kind enough to find me a rich patron there, and Sue's worried that I'll forget her. I wouldn't”, he assured them. “But me being so far away makes everything more complicated, and it's not easy now”.

“Your patron wouldn't mind you being married?”, asked Howard.

“No. I should think he'd prefer it, being more respectable”, said Mr Corner. “And we'd be given a house and servants – not anything like you have, Lord Moon, but enough to be comfortable”. He looked slightly defiant, as if daring Howard to say he didn't deserve Susanna.

“Then I think you should marry as soon as possible”, Howard said. “Miss Denham, or the new Mrs Corner I should say, will need time to buy clothing and necessities for the trip to Vienna”.

“If there was any way it could be done”, said Mr Corner helplessly.

“The usual method is Gretna Green”, said Howard briskly. “By mail coach is fastest, leaving from Charing Cross. You can get to York in twenty hours now, and from there I'd advise hiring a good private carriage for the twelve hours it will take to get to Scotland. Once you are on the road, you cannot stop. It will be long and arduous. Would that be too tiring for you, Miss Denham?”.

“Not at all”, said Susanna, her eyes sparkling at the adventure of it. “Nothing is too hard, as long as Chris and I can be together”.

“It would take a lot of my savings”, said Mr Corner worriedly.

Howard reached into his pocket. “I visited my bank earlier this morning”, he said. “Here's one hundred pounds to help you on your journey”.

“One hundred pounds?”, gasped Mr Corner, his voice going up the scale.

“Two hundred, then”, said Howard, taking more notes from his pocket.

“It's far more than we need”, Mr Corner said in a daze.

“Think of it as an early wedding present”, said Howard. “When you return from Scotland, please use the money to make the new Mrs Corner a comfortable home here until you leave for Vienna”.

“I … I can't possibly pay you back”, said Mr Corner.

“You can repay me by treating your wife like the lovely lady she is”, Howard said seriously. “If I ever hear that you have hurt or betrayed her, I will come over to Vienna and give you a sound drubbing, and never worry about it being a fair fight. And then I will escort Mrs Corner back to England to be with her friends and family”.

“You don't have to worry about that”, Mr Corner said with a little smile. “I know you think I'm not good enough for Sue”.

“Mr Corner, if ladies waited to marry gentlemen good enough for them, most would die spinsters”, said Howard solemnly.

“Lord Moon, why are you helping us?”, asked a perplexed Susanna.

“Since I've been in society, I've learned to hate the way it stops people being with the ones they love”, said Howard slowly. “I want at least two people to marry their choice. And you must never tell anyone of my small part in it. I don't want to hear your plans, I must know nothing of them”.

“We understand”, Susanna said. “And now I think we'd better get back to Soho Square. Lord Moon is supposed to be proposing to me”.

“All I could think of”, Howard said with an embarrassed look.

“And what will you tell your mother?”, Mr Corner asked Susanna in amusement.

“That I am a young, inexperienced girl, and need more time to consider Lord Moon's proposal”, said Susanna pertly, retying her bonnet.

“I think you gave me just enough hope that I could try again by the end of the season”, Howard said with a grin.

As they walked back up Frith Street, Howard asked, very quietly, “Does your maid Mary know anything about Mr Corner?”.

Susanna nodded, her face going pink, and Howard said, “You must take her with you when you go, otherwise she will be blamed, and lose her position without a character. The least you can do is protect her now”.

“I understand”, Susanna said. “She won't like the trip to Scotland, and she'll kick up a fuss about the house in Frith Street, even though it's much nicer than the little cottage she grew up in. But when we get to Vienna I think she'll be alright, once she get used to it”.

“You won't use her as a scullery maid?”, Howard said doubtfully. “Your mother said she's not strong”.

“No, I promise we won't”, Susanna said. “Chris has only got an old woman to cook and clean for him, to save money. But after we get married, he said he'll hire two girls as maids, and Mary will be my lady's maid, as before. She'll mostly be helping me shop and pack for Vienna”.

“And remember to go to your parents as soon as you are married, and beg their forgiveness”, Howard counselled. “Say you wanted a husband you could love, and keep telling them about his rich patron. Write to them from Vienna and let them know where you live”.

“They will be very, very angry”, said Susanna, “but I think they will forgive me eventually. I'm Papa's favourite, and Mama is not a severe woman at all”.

There was nothing left for Howard to do but gracefully deposit Susanna in Soho Square, giving a little sigh and a smile to Mrs Denham, to let her know he'd been turned down, but not so badly that he wouldn't try again. And then he began thinking about his dinner with Vince, which was making him hum with nerves whenever he allowed himself to remember it.

****************************************

Vince arrived to pick Howard up rather late, but Howard still wasn't ready. He was in a temper, as Brooks kept ruining cravat after cravat, until Howard felt ready to scream in frustration. It was then he heard Vince downstairs in the hallway, and Barley saying, “Good evening, my lord. I'm afraid Lord Moon is not at home”.

“Barley, you simpleton! I'm home to Lord Noir”, Howard called down the staircase. “Vince, I'm in my dressing room. Come upstairs”.

There was the light sound of boots clattering happily up the stairs, and then Vince was in his dressing room, grinning and saying, “Can't believe you take longer to get ready than I do, Howard!”.  
“Brooks keeps ruining all my cravats”, Howard grumbled.

The long-suffering Brooks said, “If my lord would be so kind as to keep still, and not pace about the room, I would be less likely to spoil them”.

“Let me”, said Vince easily. Howard froze into place, watching nervously as Vince expertly wrapped the white linen around his neck, and gave it two swift folds, before tying it and then tucking it behind Howard's waistcoat. .

“There, you see how it looks when it's a little looser like this?”, Vince said, turning Howard around to look in the mirror. “Don't you think that style looks better on you?”.

“You have done a splendid job”, said Howard with an effort, still tingling from the feeling of Vince's fingers on him.

“I have often advised my lord that a looser knot would be more becoming to him”, Brooks said, with the slightest touch of sulkiness. “But he will not hear of it, and tells me he has no wish to appear sloppy”.

“You have excellent taste, Brooks”, said Vince admiringly. “Howard is very lucky to have you, you know”.

“Thank you, my lord”, said Brooks, with a bow.

“Yes, yes. I'm very fortunate”, said Howard mockingly. “Now, where are you taking me to dinner?”.

Le Cube was on Piccadilly, just a few minute's walk from Howard's house; an eating house with a French owner, a French chef, and French waiters. It was comfortable, refined, and already crowded with the sort of men who were on their way to White's, most of whom looked up when Vince and Howard entered.

“Didn't know this place was here”, said Howard, not wanting to admit he hadn't walked down Piccadilly for some time now.

“Didn't you? Jacques has only had this place a year or so”, Vince said, waving to a table of men he knew before sitting down. “Before that he was the Prince Regent's head cook”.

Howard had time to jealously notice that the men Vince had waved to were all young, very handsome, and extremely well-dressed before Jacques came over to their table. He spoke only French, and greeted Vince as if he was a childhood friend he had been parted from for twenty years, remembering to give Howard a very deep and respectful bow.

Vince ordered the food and wine in fluent French, for which Howard was grateful. Like many educated English gentlemen, he could easily read abstruse scientific papers in French, but would have had trouble keeping up with a conversation in a Parisian cafe.

“You speak French very well”, Howard noted. “But then, your mother was French, wasn't she?”.

“Yes, she went out to India as a governess”, Vince said. “I was very well educated until I was nine. That was when she died, you see”.

“I'm so sorry, Vince”, said Howard. “I should never have brought the subject up”.

“It's alright, Howard”, Vince said, giving Howard's hand a little squeeze under the table. “I like talking about her. She was … an amazing person. But perhaps that's how everyone feels about their mother”.

“Wouldn't know. Mine died when I was a baby”, Howard said.

“That's so sad”, Vince said sympathetically, stroking Howard's hands.

“My godmother brought me up. Lady Augusta, you know”, Howard said.

“She doesn't really like me, does she?”, Vince asked. “You're not meant to talk to me”.

“I'm a grown man. I'll talk to anyone I like”, Howard said with bravado.

“And you like me?”, teased Vince, his hand on Howard's knee.

Howard blushed, and couldn't think of anything to say, except, “You're wearing the jet buttons. On your yellow waistcoat”.

Vince had a butter-coloured waistcoat matched with a pale blue coat; amongst a crowd of men dressed in dark hues, he looked both colourful and elegant. His long hair shone under the candlelight, his highlights gleaming red-gold. Whenever Howard let himself really look at Vince, his breath caught in his throat, so he tried to keep his glances brief.

“And you've got the mother-of-pearl buttons on your white silk waistcoat”, Vince smiled. “You shine like moonlight, Lord Moon, and I will never forget seeing you under the Moon's rays”.

Howard wished he could stop going new shades of pink whenever Vince spoke to him, and was glad when the food and wine were brought to their table. Both were good, more than good, but Howard hardly knew what he ate, only that everything was well prepared and expertly sauced.

Vince ate sparingly, except for the desserts, and drank copiously. At one point, he offered Howard more wine, and their fingers touched on the fragile stem of the glass. Howard playfully put his hands over Vince's, and then Vince overlaid his hands on Howard's, until they they were stacking their hands on each other like a children's game, and giggling foolishly. The game ended with spilled wine, and Vince holding Howard's fingers in his own, as if claiming his prize.

They were finishing their meal with cheese and fresh fruit, when Vince said, “Like to come to my club with me?”.

“White's or Boodle's?”, asked Howard promptly.

“Kirk's”, replied Vince.

“I've never heard of it”, said a bemused Howard.

“It's just around the corner”, said Vince, standing up. “I'll show you”.

Soon they were walking arm in arm down St James's Street, like crowds of other gentlemen in search of a good time.

“I like your hat”, Howard said shyly.

“Thanks, it's the new Turf style”, Vince said. “Genius, isn't it? Although I always look good in hats. You're looking very distinguished in your blue coat”.

“I shall pass the compliment on to my valet”, Howard said with a smile.

“Brooks? He's brilliant”, said Vince enthusiastically. “The only thing is, he's got legs like a ram”.

“You can talk”, snorted Howard. “You've got stumpy little corgi legs”.

“No way, feel my thighs”, insisted Vince. “Pure muscle, the thighs of a sportsman”. He took Howard's hand and rubbed it between his thighs to show him, which was so forward that Howard gave a little gasp, and was thrown into silence the rest of the way, his eyes darting nervously.

They were nearing the south end of St James's Street when Vince said, “We're here. This is Kirk's”.

The club was in a house of modest size, painted black with white trim, and although neatly presented, a trifle slipshod in its elegance; not nearly as grand as White's or Brooks'. A footman opened the door to them, and a black man in a dark green swallowtail coat stepped forward to greet Vince.

“My lord, we're privileged to have your company”. The major-domo looked askance at Howard. He had an educated, effeminate voice with a slightly contemptuous tone. “Is this Lord Moon, Lord Noir?”.

“Indeed it is. Thank you, Saboo. Could we see Kirk, please?”.

The major-domo lifted a masterful hand, a footman leapt to obey, and within seconds, a little boy with blonde hair approached. Howard stared, because he couldn't have been more than eight, with blank blue eyes that sent shivers up Howard's spine. The boy wore a coat identical to Saboo.

“Howard, this is Kirk, who runs the club alongside Saboo”, Vince said before, before saying to Saboo and Kirk, “I would like Lord Moon made welcome to the private rooms as a guest”.

“Is that a good idea?”, Saboo asked. “Is he really one of _us_?”.

“He is if I say he is”, said Vince.

“I mean, when the crunch comes, can you really vouch for him?”, Saboo enquired dubiously. “He looks the sort that would totally fall apart if taken for even a short day trip to the crunch”.

“Kirk, please make Lord Moon welcome”, commanded Vince.

“Yes”, said Kirk.

“And offer him all assistance”, continued Vince.

“Yes”, said Kirk.

Both Kirk and Saboo bowed to Howard in perfect unison, Saboo saying sarcastically, “A pleasure to welcome you sir”. They stepped back to allow Vince and Howard to enter.  
“Who is that fellow with the eyes that suck the very soul from you?”, shivered Howard as he followed Vince inside.

“Kirk? He owns the club, running it with his business partner Saboo”, Vince replied.

“But … he is only a child!”, Howard protested.

“He is older than he looks”, Vince said. “Much older”.

“Does he have some sort of … condition?”, Howard asked, his eyebrows leaping up his forehead like startled deer.

“Yes, that's it”, Vince agreed readily.

“Your butler looks very young too. Does he have the same condition?”.

“Who? Naboo? Oh no … in his case, it's just being short combined with a strict beauty regimen”, Vince said airily.

One of the charges laid against Vince by Bainbridge and Co was _corruption of the young_. Was it possible that this, at least, could be explained away as two men who looked much younger than their true age? And did that mean that all the other charges could be explained away just as easily? Was it all a misunderstanding?, Howard wondered. And had he himself misunderstood?

They were passing through the gaming rooms, which were thick with the smells of tobacco smoke, and hot, sweaty male bodies.

“Never play cards here”, Vince warned him. “It's a well known gambling hell”.

“I'm not much of a gamester”, Howard replied.

“Me either. I only play when I need money”, Vince said.

“What? You mean you _always_ win?”, asked Howard disbelievingly.

“I know. It sounds mad, doesn't it?”, Vince said with a laugh. “But I always win at cards, so I only do it when I really need the money”.

Howard was still boggling over this information when Vince took him to the rear of the house, and nodded at a footman who hastened to open a nondescript door. This led up a flight of stairs to a cosy dark green room which had curtains drawn and a single lamp burning.

“Is this the private room?”, Howard asked, looking around.

“It's my private room”, Vince said. “There are others. Would you like a brandy?”. He poured two glasses from a crystal decanter on a side table, and took a sip of his.

There were two comfortable leather armchairs in the room, and a single bed in one corner, but both of them remained standing. Howard put his drink on the mantelpiece and leaned against it, even though there was no fire on such a warm night. Vince did the same, then took a step towards Howard and rested his head against his broad shoulder.

“You know, this is so weird”, he said in a low voice. “I could have the most beautiful people in the world if I wanted, but I want you instead”.

“Oh, that's very flattering”, said Howard stiffly.

“No, but listen, Howard”, Vince went on, beginning to stroke Howard over his shirt, soft fingertips unbuttoning his waistcoat. “You're a big lanky Yorkshireman with little eyes like a shrew and your hair's always in a mess, but I want you”.

“Look, there's some things you don't understand about me, Vince”, Howard said warningly. “I don't … I can't be with men. I like men, but … my body doesn't”.

Howard felt the brush of Vince's hand against his breeches, light and swift. He tried to say, “Don't touch me”, but a rush of arousal removed his ability to speak. Vince's fingers, more certain now, were sliding over the rigid bulge in Howard's breeches.

“Are you sure, Howard?”, Vince asked in a soft voice. “Because it feels as if your body likes this a great deal”.

“I didn't mean ...”, Howard began, but Vince's own length, stiff as a ramrod, was hard against his thigh, and his fingers were diving for Howard's buttons.

“It's funny, I don't even know how to _ask_ you”, Vince said, sounding helpless. “I've never had to ask anyone before”.

His fingers slipped inside Howard's breeches. There was a gasp, and Howard stumbled back, finding that the bed was there to catch him, and Vince followed as if he was already part of Howard's body. His mind was full of the movement of Vince's hand inside his breeches, there was no room for any other thought than the pleasure of having Vince touch him, stroke him, hold him.

And then Vince, already lying near to him, leaned in and kissed him. He could feel Vince's mouth on his, lips soft, the gentle caress of his tongue, Vince's hand on the back of his head, pulling him in closer. Howard pushed away the image of Tommy's face, its ravaged mouth open and empty. The stink of rotting flesh. He forced himself to concentrate on Vince's smell – his brandy-warm breath, the pomade in his hair, his rich floral perfume covering an exciting wild beast scent.

Part of him wanted to pull away, but he didn't. Instead he put one hand out and cupped Vince's arse, those cheeks he had wanted to smack, but now luxuriated in feeling their firm curves. He drew Vince closer to him, and allowed him to kiss him, becoming breathless as he realised Vince had wrestled his cock free of his breeches.

Howard made a reluctant noise, but Vince gave a needy whine, as he said, “ _Please_ , Howard! I've never had to ask anyone in my life, and now I'm _begging_ you. Please don't make me stop”.

There was a sensation of silky, hard flesh as Vince brought his own cock against Howard's, and wrapped them together in his hand. Vince groaned into Howard's mouth, and lay on top of him, tugging at Howard's soft curls as they rutted together with frantic urgency, cock to cock, mouth to mouth. Vince kept kissing Howard, eager and undeniably experienced; Howard shuddered underneath his mouth and the smooth movement of his hands, as if trying to drag Howard into him. Instinct had taken over, and Howard was thrusting back at him, kneading his arse and thighs. He couldn't hear his own moans, which were deep and harsh, like a dog growling.

Vince was young, and Howard innocent. They spent within seconds, almost simultaneously, both into the hand that Howard had clapped over them at the last minute, in an effort to protect his silk waistcoat. They lay together in the dim light, shoulders heaving, Vince's mouth still locked over Howard's lips as the pleasure subsided.

Vince was the first to pull away. “That was genius. I wanted to do that the first night we met. Thought about asking you, but you kept ignoring me”.

Howard reached for his handkerchief with his less sticky hand. “You're a hard person to ignore”, he said, making an effort to maintain a normal tone.

“Did you ever think about me?”, Vince asked, all youthful wistfulness.

“It's possible”, said Howard, rubbing his handkerchief over his palm, cleaning up the mess. Trying not to think about bodily wastes, bodily fluids, the corrupted human body which rots and dies.

“I think you did”, Vince crowed, smiling like a child who's been given a new toy to play with. “Do you want to spend the night here with me, Howard?”.

“I'm afraid I have to get up early tomorrow morning”, Howard said apologetically, as Vince pulled his cravat away to kiss down his jawline, and into his throat.

“Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”, Vince asked, his blue eyes already looking heavy.

“Of course”, said Howard, swinging his legs off the little bed, and tenderly tucking Vince under the covers. Almost instantly he went from a dissolute young man, drinking brandy and seducing men at his sinister club, to looking like a lost little boy who needed his _Maman_.

“Goodnight, Howard”, Vince said trustingly. “ _Bonne nuit_ ”.

From somewhere in his boyhood Howard remembered a little conversational French, and clumsily said, “ _Dors bien, mon petit_ ”, before kissing Vince chastely on the forehead. He made sure that Vince was properly asleep before he put out the lamp and tiptoed away down the secret staircase and into the club.

****************************************

It was only a short walk home. Barley let him into the house, and after a brief conversation, Howard told him to go to bed. Upstairs, Brooks was waiting to wash and undress him.

“I trust my lord had a pleasant evening”, said Brooks, with a slight smirk at Howard's tousled curls, missing cravat, and unmistakable smell of semen on his silk handkerchief.

“Thank you, Brooks, that's very kind”, said Howard, rather distantly. “I apologise for the inconvenience and short notice, but I'm leaving London tomorrow. Make sure all my belongings are packed and ready to go in the morning”.

**The Subscription Room at Brooks's Club, from Thomas Rowlandson's _The Microcosm_**

**_of London_ (1809).**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pink carnations are traditionally a symbol of a mother's love. Howard may be desperately trying to remind Mrs Denham that she loves her daughter, and wants the best for her.
> 
> Frith Street runs off Soho Square, and is a similarly arty neighbourhood. Mr Corner's house is No. 58, which matches No. 59. These terrace houses were built in the early 19th century, so are still relatively new here, and although now worth millions, would have been cheap and considered lower middle class back then. The house was originally owned by a plumber.
> 
> The age gap between Sue and Chris isn't the scandalous part – the Denhams would have been thrilled if Chris was a rich nobleman willing to marry their 15 year old daughter. It's the fact that he is from a lower class, and that they secretly agree to marry.
> 
> Harpenden is a market town about three miles from Redbourn, and considered to be the inspiration for Meryton in “Pride and Prejudice”. 
> 
> Vienna was the music capital of the world at this time. Although Chris' patron could be a prince or elector, he might be very well be an aristocratic English ex-pat – several were famous musical patrons. If you believe that Chris got the gig from being Lady Coniston's lover, I'd say that was very plausible, and it means he now knows how to give his wife the most exquisite pleasure, so lucky Sue!
> 
> Young lovers had to elope to Gretna Green on the Scottish border because English marriage law only allowed people to marry without parental consent after the age of twenty-one, while Scotland merely stipulated that the male be over fourteen and the female over twelve. Furthermore, anyone could perform a marriage service, so there was no need to book a church or find a willing minister. These marriages were still legal back in England. 
> 
> Howard gives Chris a crazy amount of money – 200 pounds was enough for a family in modest circumstances to live on for a year. You've probably also noticed that he's put Sue in a precarious position by removing her from her family's protection and sending her overseas. He has to threaten Chris that he himself will come and get Sue should anything go awry, so he's taken on quite a responsibility. 
> 
> lose her position without a character: get sacked without a reference, making it almost impossible for Mary to get another decent job. 
> 
> Despite Regency Romance novels telling us that a woman could never marry beneath her, in fact there was a surge of women marrying below their class in Regency times, due to a shortage of men because of the Napoleonic Wars. Sue isn't that much of an anomaly.
> 
> You only got one chance to tie a cravat, so if you made a mistake, the whole thing had to be thrown away. 
> 
> I suspect the French restaurant Vince takes Howard is an anachronism, as I think it was really several more decades before modern restaurants really took off in London. However, I can't find anything which says it couldn't have existed either. Jacques Le Cube is inspired by famous French chef Marie-Antoine Carême (1784-1833), who was the Prince Regent's cook in 1815. Piccadilly was a famous street for taverns and eating houses, and I've placed Le Cube somewhere between The Ritz and The Wolsley. 
> 
> Boodle's is a prestigious gentleman's club founded in 1762, located at 28 St James's Street since 1782. Of Conservative cast, during the Regency it became a club for the landed gentry, while the more senior White's was for the upper nobility. Because Howard asks if Vince belongs to White's or Boodle's, the implication is that Howard belongs to Brooks's, founded in 1764 by prominent Whig members of the nobility. It is right near Park Place, so Howard would have had less than a minute to walk to his club.
> 
> Turf style: a sporty top hat style with a shorter crown and a curled brim.
> 
> I have placed Kirk's at 85 St James's Street, which at this time was The Albion Club in real life. According to contemporary sketches, it seems to have been a sort of crummier-looking version of Boodle's. The building was demolished in 1862, and the site is now (I think) part of a Masonic Lodge.
> 
> gambling hell: old term for a casino. It would have been full of card sharks just waiting to take your money.
> 
> Contemporary legal records tell us that coffee houses and inns had private rooms for middle class and working men to meet for sex. It seems logical to assume that private gentleman's clubs had much nicer private rooms for the same purpose, only these wouldn't be raided by the police.
> 
> The second part of this chapter shows just show homosocial London was in the early 19th century. Unlike on the continent, respectable women didn't appear in public, so going out for a meal or a drink was only for men to enjoy together. This continued until late Victorian times.
> 
> The French is just Vince saying “Good night”, and Howard replying, “Sleep well, my little one”.


	11. Mrs Gideon and the Trysting Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming home to Harthill Park in Yorkshire doesn't bring Howard the peace and serenity he was hoping for. Lady Augusta introduces another marriage prospect – this one rather more suitable than Miss Denham. A local piece of folklore impacts Howard when the owner of the property next door reveals themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been noted by several readers how sensitive and emotional Howard is in this story. I did see him as the sensitive Howard who was once seen weeping in a skip in Camden (I mean he's clearly been quite traumatised by life), but in Regency times, men were given a lot more leeway with their emotions. It wasn't considered shameful to shed a few manly tears every once in a while.

"We had not expected you for several weeks, sir", said the housekeeper, when Howard arrived home at Harthill early the next morning.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Mrs Featherstone", Howard said, as Barley and Brooks started bringing in his luggage. “Don't worry if everything isn't ready for us, we'll manage”.

“Like the wise virgins, we have husbanded our oil, for we knew neither the day nor the hour when the Master would arrive”, Mrs Featherstone said solemnly, looking at Howard out of her deeply hooded eyes.

“Well, the Master is very grateful to the wise virgins”, said Howard with a tired smile. “Does that mean our beds are already made up?”.

“Indeed, sir. Fresh sheets, and your room has been aired every day, sir”, said Mrs Featherstone with justifiable pride. “If you would like to go upstairs, sir, I will have one of the maids bring you some tea and buttered toast, for you must be hungry after your long journey”.

Howard _was_ hungry, and thirsty, but so tired after travelling more than fifteen hours that he was ready to almost fall asleep on his feet, and appreciative of Mrs Featherstone's ministrations.

****************************************

Howard had thought that only when he got home to Yorkshire would his mind be at peace again. Instead he felt restless, and it was impossible to settle to anything. He went walking or riding, but came home hot and fretful. New books arrived that he had been longing to read, but he could only get through a few pages before throwing the volume down. Barley and Brooks got on his nerves so much that he gave them two weeks summer holiday, then almost died of loneliness without them.

He was so lonely that he almost welcomed a visit from Lady Augusta, who arrived without any notice or fanfare. Seeing her tall, bony figure approaching down the gravel path as he looked out the window, Howard quickly sent word to Mrs Featherstone to have tea ready as soon as possible, and to serve it in the parlour.

“So, you left me to close up the London house and make my own way home?”, she said with a sniff, as she looked approvingly at Mrs Featherstone's excellent tea.

“I'm sorry, Lady Augusta”, said Howard, feeling rather ashamed that he had abandoned his godmother.

“It's alright, Howard”, she said, more gently than he had expected. “Being refused by Miss Denham must have hurt you badly”.

“What? Oh, yes. That's right. I was … humiliated”, Howard said, gladly latching onto this as an excuse.

“The girl ran off with the violinist from Lady Coniston's musical evening”, said Lady Augusta. “It's the most terrible scandal for the family, I don't know how her grandmother will survive it”.

“I believe it to be a true love match”, said Howard. “I hope in time her family will come to accept it and be reconciled with her”.

“Well, you are very forgiving”, said Lady Augusta, taking a sip of her tea. “But I've come to realise that you are not really suited to marriage with young ladies”.

“I'm glad that you now understand that about me”, said Howard gratefully.

“No, after seeing how well you got on with that dreadful Lady Coniston, I think you'd be better suited to an older woman as your wife. Someone with a bit of experience”, said Lady Augusta thoughtfully.

Howard ate his cucumber sandwiches with something akin to horror as Lady Augusta went on to say the sister of a dear friend was coming to visit her. From an old Derbyshire family, she was the widow of Colonel Gideon, who had fallen at Waterloo. Lady Augusta praised Mrs Gideon as being a sensible woman, with no romantic nonsense about her; educated and ladylike. Colonel Gideon had left her well provided for, and she had her own home near Manchester, but she was still relatively young, and she and the Colonel had never been blessed with children. In short, she was a lonely and eligible widow – not desperate to remarry, but quite willing should the right man come along.

Accordingly, it was just a few days later that Lady Augusta made a morning call at Harthill, accompanied by her visitor. Mrs Gideon was an attractive lady of about thirty, with a slender figure and reddish-brown hair. She wore a sensible but pretty dark green walking dress with a straw sunbonnet and stout shoes.

Howard had no sooner welcomed both ladies to Harthill and invited them into the drawing room when Lady Augusta said she had an old receipt for pepper cake she had promised to give Mrs Featherstone. She made her way out to the kitchens, leaving Howard alone with Mrs Gideon, who removed her sunbonnet to show her hair was pulled back into an elegant Grecian knot.

“I hope the walk here did not fatigue you, Mrs Gideon”, Howard began.

“Not at all. It is only a step here from Lady Augusta's”, said Mrs Gideon. “I enjoy walking”.

“We share that in common”, smiled Howard. “I walk miles and miles, but sometimes I think it is a lonely business”.

Mrs Gideon gave a wry smile. “As a man, you have the luxury of becoming lonely. I must always walk out with a companion or servant for my own safety, and often long for solitude”.

“Please feel free to walk anywhere you wish on my estate”, said Howard politely. “I believe you will be safe from harm anywhere within its bounds – as safe as you would be in my house”.

“That's very kind”, said Mrs Gideon.

“The poet John Keats spoke of solitude, and how it is the greatest pleasure to be alone in nature. However, it is superseded by the highest pleasure – to share the beauties of nature with a kindred spirit”.

“I do not know of John Keats”, said Mrs Gideon, “but I agree with his ideas”.

“Do you like poetry?”, Howard enquired.

“Yes, greatly”, said Mrs Gideon. “I am reading _An Oriental Romance_ by Thomas Moore at the moment”.

This was one of the new books that Howard had abandoned after a few pages, but he enthusiastically said, “Oh, yes! _Lalla Rookh_. It's so … romantic. In an … Oriental sort of way”.

“What did you think of it?”, asked Mrs Gideon seriously.

“Well … they do things very differently there”, said Howard, with what he hoped was a knowing chuckle.

“Indeed”, said Mrs Gideon, with a slight frown.

Howard managed to muddle his way through a discussion on _Persuasion_ and _Northanger Abbey_ , mostly by taking up plenty of time in expressing great astonishment that the author of _Sense and Sensibility_ had turned out to be named Jane Austen.

“My goodness … Jane! Jane Austen! Well, mark my words, I was never more surprised”, said Howard. “I was guessing her name was Maria, and then something with an E, such as Elliot”.

He got into trouble during _Rob Roy_ , by boldly declaring, “Ah, Rob Roy! How he strides about the novel, putting wrongs to rights, and attracting every eye”.

“He only plays a small part in the story”, Mrs Gideon gently corrected him.

“Um, yes, but for those few pages we see him, how he strides about”, Howard burbled, before descending into a safer line of misty Highland glens and plaid-clad Jacobites.

Howard was just trying to steer the conversation into a holiday he'd spent in Scotland, when Mrs Gideon said, “Which character did you see yourself in, when you were reading _Rob Roy_?”.

As Mrs Gideon had the book open on her lap, Howard glanced at the nearest page before replying, “Rashleigh”.

“But … Rashleigh was a traitor!”, Mrs Gideon said in shock. “Why would you see yourself in a villain?”.

“Haven't we all betrayed those we love?”, said Howard desperately. “Um, in our minds?”.

All in all, it was relief when Lady Augusta appeared, saying that she and Mrs Gideon had to go home. Howard immediately took himself off to the library, and applied himself to his abandoned volumes. By the time Lady Augusta and Mrs Gideon called in the next day, he had read _Lalla Rookh_ , _Northanger Abbey_ , half of _Persuasion_ , and had skimmed through most of _Rob Roy_.

He was able to acquit himself much more favourably when he and Mrs Gideon talked about literature again, while Lady Augusta saw Mrs Featherstone about some young pullets. Before Mrs Gideon left, he had lent her _Melincourt_ by Thomas Love Peacock, and she had lent him _Frankenstein_ , by an anonymous author. Furthermore, Howard had blushingly admitted to having written some poetry himself, and Mrs Gideon had begged him to read a little to her some time.

The next day the weather was so warm that Howard had Mrs Featherstone bring them all home made lemonade and currant biscuits to have outside in the garden, under the cedar tree on the lawn. While Lady Augusta consulted the gardener about some pansy cuttings, Howard stood by the fish pond, and shyly recited from his own work.

_Oh dear one, lily-scented, skin like cream_   
_Your lips warm and luscious, tasting of wine_   
_Eyes of sky, bright as day, fair as a dream_   
_Sunlight smile, creamy hands, never to be mine._

“A very beautiful woman must have inspired that”, said Mrs Gideon, with the understanding smile of someone who'd heard all about Miss Denham.

“It was written from my imagination”, said Howard austerely.

The following day Lady Augusta left Howard and Mrs Gideon alone in the drawing room while she collected a basket of eggs from Mrs Featherstone.

“You have a beautiful instrument”, Mrs Gideon said admiringly.

“Pardon me?”.

“Your pianoforte. May I play a little on it?”.

“Oh, of course. It was my mother's, and I'm afraid sadly neglected”, Howard said.

Mrs Gideon sat at the pianoforte, tried a few keys warily, and then her fingers began gliding over them as she played an aria from _Don Giovanni_. Howard became lost in the beauty of the music, and then Mrs Gideon began to sing. Her voice was exquisite, and Howard could not help but take pleasure in it.

“That was … extraordinary”, he breathed.

“I love opera”, Mrs Gideon said simply.

“I love it too”, Howard replied, and soon they discussing their favourite operas together, becoming so interested in their conversation that neither of them heard Lady Augusta come in with a basket of eggs.

It was early the next morning when Howard was taking a turn around the park before breakfast that he espied Mrs Gideon going for a walk by herself.

“Good morning, Mrs Gideon”, he called, running over to her. “I will not intrude on your solitude should you wish to be alone”.

“That is quite alright, Lord Moon”, said Mrs Gideon. “I have been walking by myself for nearly an hour, and would welcome company”.

“You seem very pensive, Mrs Gideon”, Howard said, for she was more serious now than ever.

“It is my husband's birthday today – he would have been fifty, had he lived”, she said. “I always dedicate this day to his memory, which is as fresh today as the day he left this world”.

“That is very natural”, said Howard warmly. “I believe Colonel Gideon fell at Waterloo?”.

“He did, yes”, said Mrs Gideon softly, wiping one eye with a handkerchief. “And I think you also lost someone there?”.

“Yes, my dear friend Tommy Nookah”, said Howard, with a lump in his throat. “The best friend a man could ever have, and a great hero who gave his all for king and country”.

“So we are both war widows”, said Mrs Gideon sympathetically, and she lightly pressed her hand to Howard's in such a way that the tears came to his eyes.

They walked in companionable silence for a little way, until Mrs Gideon said, “I suppose there is a legend attached to every landmark at Harthill, is there?”.

“Not very many, really”, Howard said. “There is a Roman road which leads from here to the village, and supposedly if you walk down it you can see some sort of ghost dog on certain nights, a great black mastiff. It's meant to mean good news if the dog is facing north, and bad news if facing south – or maybe it's the other way around?”.

“Goodness, how terrifying!”, Mrs Gideon said with a laugh, although she still shivered.

“And Robin Hood is said to have stolen from Northwood Abbey, which is on the adjoining property”, Howard offered.

“Of course, this is Robin Hood country isn't it?”, said Mrs Gideon. “And is the abbey still standing?”.

“Yes, it is”, Howard said. “It was turned into a country house centuries before, but it has sadly been left to nature these many years. My steward tells me a noble family once owned it, but the family died out, and left the property in abeyance”.

“What a shame”, said Mrs Gideon. “It should really be a _haunted_ abbey – it would be in a novel”.

“Well, the local people say they can sometimes see lights in the abbey at night as if someone was still living there”, said Howard, “and there's supposed to be something rather nasty in the lake if you go on it after dark”.

“I would have liked to see it, but I don't think I will have time now, for Lady Augusta wishes me to visit some friends of hers in Sheffield”.

“Some other time”, said Howard, leaving the vague invitation in the air between them.

“And which of these hills is Harthill named after?”, Mrs Gideon asked with a studious air.

“That's Hart Hill over there, right on the park's boundary”, Howard said, pointing out a peaked hill perhaps three or four miles distant. “The great oak on its summit is called The Trysting Tree, the only survivor of an ancient wood. It is said that if two people meet by chance under it, they will be bound together forever by either great love or great enmity”.

“I do like collecting these old myths”, said Mrs Gideon. “I don't suppose you have personal knowledge of any of them?”.

“Only that my parents once met each other under the Trysting Tree”, said Howard. “But after he lost my mother, my father's mind was turned inward and became something sick and sour, so I cannot recommend it”.

“I'm so sorry”, said Mrs Gideon sincerely. “It is terrible when grief poisons a person's soul like that. It is surely not what your mother would have wished. Those we love and lose, we must continue to love, but in a purely spiritual way, and our earthly life should go on in such a rational manner that our loved ones in heaven be proud of how we live it”.

****************************************

Mrs Gideon's visit ended, and she went home to Manchester. There was a general understanding that if she was interested, she would later spend the entire winter with Lady Augusta so that Howard could woo her properly. In the meantime, Lady Augusta went to the seaside at Weymouth with her brother and his family, and Howard was left alone again.

He tried to to be glad about it, but the truth was that in some ways he missed Mrs Gideon. Her calm demeanour and level-headed good humour was rather soothing, and he had enjoyed having someone intelligent to talk to about books and music. Howard felt that if life threw storms and stress at him, Mrs Gideon would quietly sort it all out, and he instinctively knew that she was quite capable of running a household with economy and tact. Furthermore, she seemed to understand about Tommy, and might even understand about Vince.

A few days later he took himself for a walk around the park with his toffee-coloured cocker spaniel Ruffle, wearing his oldest shirt, a beige woollen waistcoat, tan trousers, ancient boots, and a much-patched brown jacket that had belonged to his father. The weather had begun to cool, and it was very pleasant walking to the top of Hart Hill, from where he could see both his own property, and that of Northwood Abbey, with equal ease.

Ruffle had scrambled into some bushes alongside the fence under the delusion they were filled with rabbits, and Howard was calling her back in some irritation when he turned around and literally bumped into someone under the shade of the great spreading oak.

“Wretched dog – my apologies, sir”, he muttered.

“Howard!”, a voice gasped, and for a breathless moment Howard felt warm lips kissing his mouth before he pulled away and stared in consternation.

“Vince? What the hell are you doing here?”, Howard demanded. “Have you followed me to my home?”.

“No, Howard. This is _my_ home!”, Vince insisted. “You're on my land, or at least your dog is”.

Howard looked at Vince. Although elegantly dressed as usual, he was all in black, with his long hair tied back in a queue like a soldier or a sailor. His skin was very pale, with dark rings beneath his eyes.

“You own Northwood Abbey”, Howard said flatly, for such could be the only conclusion.

“Yes. The estate has been neglected for a long time, and I've come to see what condition it is in”, said Vince. “But Howard, why did you leave London so suddenly? I went to your house, and found it shut up and empty”.

“I … had some urgent news”, Howard said, looking at the ground. “I had to return home with all haste”.

“And you couldn't have sent me a note?”, said Vince with a hurt face. “Or written to me?”.

It was at this moment that Ruffle bounded out of the bushes, and began jumping around Vince with her stumpy little tail wagging.

“Good dog”, Vince smiled at her. “Can you sit down for me, please?”.

Ruffle instantly sat at his feet, abasing herself on his top-boots so that he might rub her silky ears and talk to her, which he did in a friendly, gentle manner that was too low for Howard to make out any words, until he said, “Return to your master, sweet spaniel”.

Ruffle gave him a look of the deepest yearning, but obeyed and went to sit near Howard, giving him an embarrassed look to say she was sorry about the imaginary rabbits.

“Come to heel, Ruffle”, said Howard, very vexed with his hound.

“She's a lovely dog”, said Vince. “She tries to please you, but then she gets distracted, and you become cross and sulky with her. Far more than she deserves”.

“Thank you for your advice”, said Howard coldly. “She has certainly made me a look a fool today. I bid you farewell, neighbour”.

Howard gave a curt nod at Vince and began walking home with a repentant spaniel at his heels. He tried not to look at the big blue eyes which gazed after him with such longing, or think about the lips which had pressed against his with such sweetness.

**An English Country House, Mary Evans Picture Library**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howard's estate, Harthill Park, is more or less imaginary, but with elements inspired by various of the smaller stately homes in Yorkshire, such as Nunnington Hall and Newby Hall.
> 
> Mrs Featherstone references the parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins, told by Jesus in “Matthew”. Ten virgins are chosen to help at a wedding by carrying lamps; half of them have wisely brought oil for their lamps, while the foolish virgins only brought lamps. When the bridegroom arrives, the foolish virgins have gone to buy oil, so they are too late for the wedding feast. Mrs Featherstone likens herself and her staff to the Wise Virgins who are prepared for their master to arrive at any time. Featherstone is a surname connected with Yorkshire, and I suspect Mrs Featherstone may be a Dissenter (non-Anglican Protestant, such as Methodist). If so, it shows Howard doesn't discriminate against people by religion when employing them – lots of people did at this time. 
> 
> receipt: old word for a recipe.
> 
> pepper cake: a Yorkshire treat dating to the 18th century – a fruitcake with sweet spices added to it (the “pepper”). There are numerous recipes from different parts of Yorkshire, so it's quite believable Lady Augusta knows one that Mrs Featherstone doesn't.
> 
> Howard and Mrs Gideon read “Lalla Rookh: An Oriental Romance” by Thomas Moore (1817), “Northanger Abbey” and “Persuasion” by Jane Austen (1817 – published posthumously with her name attached for the first time), and “Rob Roy” by Sir Walter Scott (1817). The books they lend each other are both about non-humans trying to be accepted as people. “Melincourt” by Thomas Love Peacock (1815) is about an orangutan who is put forward for election as an MP, while “Frankenstein” by Mary Shelley (1818 – published anonymously) is about a creature forced into being by science who struggles to find acceptance and love in his efforts to achieve humanity.
> 
> Howard's poem seems to be the first stanza of a Shakespearean sonnet. Thank heavens the rest of this dismal effusion should have been lost to history!
> 
> Mrs Gideon plays from “Don Giovanni, or The Libertine Punished”, by Mozart (1787), based on the legend of Don Juan. 
> 
> The various bits of folklore are based on real myths and legends around the Harthill area – none exactly the same, but similar enough to be recognisable to a local folklorist or historian.
> 
> Northwood Abbey, a nod to “Northanger Abbey”, is partly named after the hamlet of Norwood in Derbyshire, just over the border from Harthill. 
> 
> Weymouth in Dorset was a fashionable seaside resort in Georgian times, a favourite retreat of George III and considered very healthy. The Prince Regent had made Brighton the new fashionable resort during the Regency, but Lady Augusta and her family are having none of that modern claptrap, thank you.


	12. Kidnapped!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard ends up being taken to Northwood Abbey by accident.

Howard walked home with his thoughts in a disorder. He was dismayed to find that Vince was the heir of Northwood Abbey, even more so when he realised that his heart had beat faster upon seeing him, and had secretly enjoyed being kissed like that, before there were any words or explanations between them. Indeed, words seemed to have made the situation worse. He flushed with shame when he remembered that he had been on the point of responding to the kiss, answering with a kiss of his own, when he had come to his senses and pulled away.

Howard fully expected Vince to come to Harthill Park, and he spent his time either lurking in the library, sitting in the parlour so he could see Vince coming down the drive, or picturing Vince being turned away from the house by an all-powerful Barley. When a week went by without any sign of Vince, Howard had to confess himself disappointed. He wondered if Vince had already left the abbey, and he was hiding himself away for nothing.

One afternoon Howard ventured out on his bay mare, Miranda, riding along the boundary fence between the two properties and looking down at Northwood Abbey to see if there were any signs of life. Deciding that the abbey looked empty and abandoned, he rode Miranda onto the abbey estate to investigate further. It was then that he heard a carriage behind him, and looking back in alarm, he saw a chaise approaching, pulled by two neat black ponies.

He urged Miranda into a gallop lest they be overtaken, cursing his curiosity, trying to ride Miranda towards Harthill. The mare objected, as it was stony and scrubby terrain, not suitable ground for galloping, and soon she came to a sudden dead halt. Miranda threw Howard neatly into a shallow depression in the ground that she had no intention of stepping into herself, then immediately dropped her head to graze.

“How are you doing there?”, Vince called, getting out of the chaise.

“Excellent, thank you”, Howard replied with a grimace of pain. “Just out for a ride. I hope I'm not in your way at all”.

“Not in the least”, Vince assured him, standing over Howard. “You seem to be lying down”.

“Oh well, I felt a bit tired”, Howard said.

“Can you get up?”.

“Oh, yes, no problems getting up”, Howard replied without moving.

“Can you get up now?”, asked Vince.

There was a struggle as Howard attempted to get to his feet, and then he lay back down, looking defeated.

“Think I might lie here just a moment longer if it's alright with you”, Howard said rather breathlessly.

“Naboo”, called Vince. “Come here. I think Howard is hurt. His face is all white and sick-looking, and he can't get up”.

The tiny man in flowing robes and a turban jumped down from the chaise, walked over, and calmly examined Howard.

“Sprained his ankle”, was the terse verdict.

“I'll be alright in a moment”, said Howard. “I'll walk it off, then ride Miranda home, if she's alright”.

“Your horse isn't injured”, Vince said. “She says you wanted her to gallop when it wasn't safe, and she was frightened you'd put her in danger. She feels bad for hurting you, though”.

“He can't ride home”, said Naboo is his strange, flat voice. “Too badly hurt”.

“If you send a message to Harthill, they will bring a carriage for me”, said Howard. “I shall be alright once I get home, I expect”.

Vince looked questioningly at Naboo.

“It's six miles to Harthill by road”, Naboo said slowly, “and very bumpy. It would be much quicker to the abbey, little more than a mile”.

“Bollo!”, called Vince. “Come and help Howard”. A large black figure got down from the chaise with a huffy noise of protest.

Howard really thought he might pass out, feebly saying, “But that's … that's a _gorilla_ you've got there!”.

“That's Bollo”, explained Vince offhandedly. “He's going to carry you to the chaise. He's very strong”.

Howard was already terrified, but when Bollo said, “I got a bad feeling about this Harold fellow”, and gazed searchingly at Howard with bright _blue_ eyes, he fainted dead away.

****************************************

Howard briefly came to as the chaise clattered into the stone courtyard of the abbey. The sun was almost set, and an evening mist, the first of the early autumn, was coming in – a presentiment of a chilly night ahead. The stone walls of the abbey loomed down on him in the twilight, and for the first time it struck him as a strange and even eerie place. But the pain in his ankle became worse, and as Bollo lifted him down from the chaise, he fainted again.

He came around as Naboo was cutting his boots off with a sharp knife, and then he felt in a daze as Naboo and Bollo undressed and washed him, before putting an old nightshirt over him – rather too small. His ankle felt better with a cold compress on it, and a sharp dose of smelling salts soon brought him to his wits.

“Where's Vince?”, Howard demanded fearfully. “Why have you brought me here?”.

“I'm here now, Howard”, said Vince, coming forward and holding his hands. “I just sent one of the stable boys to ride Miranda home and give word to Harthill of your accident”.

“Why did you not take me home?”, Howard asked again. “I feel as if I have been kidnapped!”,

“It was much closer to bring you here”, said Vince soothingly. “You're hurt, Howard. You've got a sprained ankle, and bruises all over”.

“Then why have you not sent for a doctor?”, Howard wanted to know.

Naboo snorted. “Oh, right. A doctor, in _these_ times? I know much more about medicine than any doctor from ... than anyone in England. I studied with the … er, Arabs”.

“Arabic medicine flourished in the Middle Ages”, frowned Howard.

“Yes, I studied from medieval manuscripts”, said Naboo crossly.

“Really Howard, Naboo is very good with medical things”, Vince said reassuringly.

Naboo wrapped a bandage around Howard's ankle, and propped his foot up on two pillows.

“I'll give you something for the pain”, said Naboo, pouring some brown liquid into a glass. “This is the best I can do for now”.

“I don't want to take laudanum”, Howard objected. “You've kidnapped me, and now you want to drug me for some nefarious purpose!”. Howard's voice sounded ever more hysterical as he went on.

“Who's got you so scared of us?”, asked Vince, half-jokingly, but Howard immediately pointed at Naboo and said, “He did. He told me it was dangerous, and to get out for my own safety”.

“What … ? Naboo, we're going to have words”, said Vince in disbelief.

“That was in London, under very different circumstances”, said Naboo. “You're safe here. It's just me and Bollo and Vince. And Mr and Mrs Cresswell”, he added after a moment.

“Housekeeper and gardener”, Bollo put in helpfully.

Howard still looked frightened, and Vince said, “Fix this”, to Naboo.

“Look at this painting of two kittens”, said Naboo conversationally to Howard, pointing out the framed picture on the wall. “Two little tabby kittens in a barrel. Look how happy they are, having a fine old time. Look at those exquisite brushstrokes the painter has used. The kitten on the left is called Philip. Look at his eyes, his eyes just two little daubs from the brush”.

Howard stared at the painting, now appearing relaxed and placid.

“Now drink this”, Naboo said in the same tone, handing Howard the glass. He drank down the laudanum, making a face at its bitter taste.

“Good boy”, said Vince approvingly, as Howard immediately fell asleep.

****************************************

When Howard woke again, he felt that it was late at night. He could now notice his surroundings, and he was in a four-poster bed, in a room lit a by a single candle, and kept warm by a fire. Vince sat on the bed next to him, holding his hand, and with the other hand, stroking the hair away from his brow as if trying to soothe him. Seeing he was awake, Vince brought over a jug of water and poured him a glass. Howard drank gratefully, his mouth dry.

“How's your ankle?”, asked Vince.

“Oh, well enough”, replied Howard. “The laudanum has helped with the pain”.

“Who's Tommy?”, Vince asked quietly.

“Old college friend. Why?”, asked Howard. '

“You been calling for him”, said Vince. “Do I need to be jealous?”.

“No, he's dead”, said Howard. “And why would you be jealous of my old friend?”.

“Howard, if you call someone's name in your sleep, I'm pretty sure you're in love with them”, Vince said.

“Well, he's long gone”, said Howard.

“How did he die?”.

“Killed at Waterloo”, said Howard.

“Oh great, a dead war hero”, Vince grouched. “I can't compete with that. What did he look like?”.

“Fair and handsome”, Howard said in a matter of fact way.

“Got a picture?”.

Howard sat up. “Pass me my jacket”. Vince threw it over, and Howard dug into the pockets until he took out a miniature of Tommy, done before he left to become a soldier.

“He _is_ handsome”, Vince admitted reluctantly. “He looks short, though”.

Howard smiled. “I doubt there was an inch between you. Tommy was a strong, powerful man with broad shoulders. That made him look shorter, I expect”.

“He would have got fat in middle age”, Vince said with some smugness. “Short, burly men with round faces always do”.

“ _I'm_ probably going to get fat in middle age”, Howard responded.

“I think it will suit you”, Vince said judiciously, his head on one side as if picturing it. “At least you won't look like a great lanky streak like you do now”.

“Saucy vixen”, said Howard with a grin, going to slap Vince away, but finding his hand held tenderly instead. “Have you been sitting beside me all this time?”.

“No, I took over from Bollo at ten o'clock”, Vince replied.

Howard shuddered at the thought of waking up from laudanum-soaked dreams to find himself being tended by a talking gorilla. He was fairly sure he would have screamed the abbey down.

“I was warned that your servants weren't human”, Howard recalled.

“Well, Bollo is more human than most gorillas”, Vince said. “Are you hungry?”.

“I could eat a little, I think”, Howard said uncertainly, for between the pain and the laudanum he had lost much of his appetite.

“Mrs Cresswell has left your soup on the hob of the fireplace to keep warm”, said Vince, getting up. “I'll fetch it for you”. He returned with a pot of soup that he turned out into a bowl, and added a spoon.

“My thanks to you, sir”, said Howard, as he began eating. “It's good soup”.

“Howard, why did you leave London without telling me?”, Vince asked in a low tone.

Howard paused as he took another spoonful. “It's hard to explain”.

“Just a hint?”.

There was another hesitation, and then Howard said, “I think I was overwhelmed. You offered me … much more than I was expecting. More than I knew was possible”.

“I went too fast for you?”, Vince asked gently.

“Perhaps”, admitted Howard, taking refuge in soup.

“What were you expecting?”, asked Vince in a soft voice, his face getting closer.

“I don't know. Dinner, drinking, talking … I didn't let myself think of anything else”, said Howard, determinedly looking into his soup bowl.

“Next time I'll go slower”, promised Vince, making Howard blush at the idea that there would be a next time. “Now finish up your soup like a good little boy”.

Howard finished the last couple of mouthfuls of soup, and Vince carefully tucked him into bed, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. Howard instinctively raised his lips for a kiss, but Vince said, “It would be taking advantage to kiss you when you've had laudanum. Next time we kiss, I want you to be completely sober”. He rubbed his nose affectionately against Howard's as a substitute.

Howard flushed again at the thought of kissing, which Vince spoke of with such ease. They said goodnight, then Vince blew out the candle, leaving Howard to fall asleep. His emotions were in a turmoil, but he smiled to himself when he thought of the words _next time_.

**Picture of Newstead Abbey from** **_Seats of Noblemen and Gentlemen_ ** **by the Rev.**

**F.O. Morris (1880)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chaise: a light open carriage with four wheels, pulled by one or two ponies. 
> 
> Northwood Abbey is directly inspired by Newstead Abbey in Notthinghamshire, a medieval priory given to the Byron family in the 16th century and converted into a country house. Greatly neglected in the 18th century, it was in a state of disrepair when inherited by the poet George Gordon, Lord Byron, the 6th Baron Byron. Byron did try to live at the Abbey and improve it, but it was beyond his resources, and it was sold in 1818. Now owned by Nottingham City Council, the Abbey is currently a museum.
> 
> Arabic medicine: during the Middle Ages, Islamic medicine drew upon and preserved the ancient medical knowledge of the classical world, and of traditional Persian and Indian medicine, while making numerous advances and innovations. They were regarded as the best possible physicians until the Enlightenment. 
> 
> laudanum: a tincture of opium dissolved in alcohol. The wonder drug of the 19th century, as it relieved pain, cured diarrhoea, and soothed coughing. Often used as a sleep aid. Not as strong in the Regency era as it later became.
> 
> Despite his superior medical knowledge, Naboo doesn't really do anything for Howard that a 19th century doctor couldn't have done. He doesn't have access to X-rays or ultrasounds for diagnosis, or to the range of sports medicine products we can easily buy now, like ice packs. Treatment for sprained ankles wasn't radically different then to today, relying on rest, pain relief, cold compresses to reduce swelling, and bandages to hold the ankle in place. 
> 
> hob: the flat metal plate at the back or side of a fireplace, used in the past to keep food warm.


	13. A Day at Northwood Abbey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day at the abbey for Howard, getting medical advice from the knowledgeable Naboo, and enjoying himself with Vince. But what happens at night?

Howard opened his eyes to sunlight, dimmed by the green and white brocade curtains around the bed. He stretched an arm out and pulled them aside, to find matching curtains at the windows. He tried to rise out of bed, but was stopped by a pain in his ankle. Gradually it came back to him. He had been, stupidly, thrown from his horse, and Vince had brought him back to Northwood Abbey with a sprained ankle.

No matter how much it might hurt his ankle, he needed the chamber pot, and having found and used it, stored it in the commode until it could be emptied. He awkwardly got back into bed, his ankle throbbing, and tried to go back to sleep. He was in too much pain, and had to lie there patiently until Mrs Cresswell brought him his early breakfast, opened the curtains and windows, and tidied after him. Mrs Featherstone would have been horrified by her perfunctory dusting, but then, Mrs Cresswell seemed rather unintelligent.

Naboo came in after breakfast to examine Howard.

“How is your ankle this morning? Any pain?”, he asked.

“Oh, tolerable”, said Howard.

“How about you tell me honestly, as I'm your physician?”, suggested Naboo.

“If you must know, I feel devilish”, said Howard apologetically. “I ache all over as if I've broken every bone in my body”.

“You haven't broken even one bone”, Naboo assured him. “The pain is from being thrown, and you only have bruises and abrasions. I can give you some more laudanum for the pain, if you like”.

“No, if there's nothing much wrong with me, I'd prefer not to”, said Howard, thinking that if he kept taking laudanum Vince would never kiss him.

Naboo nodded, and put a fresh cold compress on Howard's ankle.

“I've got some good news for you”, he said. “Your valet has arrived with clean clothes, and he can help you get washed and dressed”.

Brooks gave a knock at the door and was called in; he stared around himself as if he'd mostly come for the chance to see the mysterious abbey from the inside. Howard's ankle was much in the way during washing and dressing, but Howard felt more himself when dressed in his own clothes, clean and shaved, hair brushed, and with a little cologne.

“Where's Vince?”, asked Howard restlessly, for he had thought Vince would be the first person in to see him.

“He's ridden to Worksop to buy a roll of lint, to be made into bandages for you”, Naboo replied.

Seeing Howard's look of disappointment, he put a copy of _Waverley_ on the bed, and Howard was forced to entertain himself with the adventures of Jacobite rebels for most of the morning, while Brooks put his things away.

***************************************

“I'm back Howard, and I got you some lint to make bandages”, Vince said, stepping into Howard's room around midday. “And I bought some cream made from arsenic from the apothecary”.

“Give me that”, ordered Naboo, reading the writing on the pot of cream carefully. “It's not arsenic, it's _arnica_ , you soft-topper”.

“Will it help?”, Vince asked humbly.

“It probably won't do any harm as long as you only use it on the outside”, said Naboo cautiously. “Try it and see what happens”.

So Naboo wrapped Howard's ankle in fresh lint bandages, and then Vince gently rubbed the arnica cream into Howard's sore muscles and bruises. Howard thought he did feel better after being rubbed all over by Vince, and told Naboo so.

“Have you heard of the placebo effect?”, Naboo said waspishly.

“I've heard of a placebo”, Howard said thoughtfully, “and I think I know what you mean. But never mind, as long as it works”.

“Howard, would you like to have a nuncheon with me by the lake?”, asked Vince. “Bollo can carry you out, and it's such a beautiful day”.

Howard looked at Naboo, who he was already beginning to trust as his physician, and received a nod of confirmation.

“Yes, do you good to spend the afternoon outdoors”, agreed Naboo. “Much better than lying in here alone all day with nothing to think about except your sore ankle”.

So Bollo carried Howard down to a seat by the lake in the shade that Vince had made into a comfortable day bed with pillows, cushions, and blankets, and Mrs Cresswell brought them out a light meal of cold chicken, bread and butter, fresh fruit, and tea.

“What does Mrs Cresswell think about Bollo?”, Howard asked Vince.

“Ask her”, Vince suggested, for Mrs Cresswell was patiently waiting to take their cups and plates when they'd finished.

“Mrs Cresswell, er, how do you find working with … Mr Bollo?”, Howard asked awkwardly.

“He tends to look on the gloomy side of things, my lord”, Mrs Cresswell answered, “but he's a most obliging creature”.

“So you don't mind working with a … a ….?”

“A blackamoor, my lord? No, not at all”, said Mrs Cresswell, sounding slightly shocked he should have questioned her. “God made his skin one colour and mine another, but in the eyes of The Lord, we are both the same”.

“Erm, yes. Very wise words”, said Howard, nonplussed. After Mrs Cresswell had left with their crockery, he turned to Vince and said, “She thinks he's human?”.

“Yes. I don't think she knows what gorillas are, and she's never seen a black person, so she just thought Bollo was black”, Vince said carelessly.

“But … he's covered in hair!”.

“I think she must think that's his clothes”, said Vince. “And that he wears furs all the time because he's used to a hot climate”.

“How did Bollo enter your employ? Gorillas aren't from India”, Howard asked, as Vince carefully lifted Howard's feet into his lap.

“No. He's Naboo's assistant, and they come together as a set”, Vince said. “You must know servants like that”.

“Yes, of course”, Howard said, who had recently had to accept two scullery maids because the first one, who was highly recommended, wouldn't come without her sister.

“After my mother died, my father hired Naboo to take care of me”, Vince explained, “and Bollo came too. Only, Bollo ended up taking better care of me than Naboo did. He was like my _amah,_ which means _nurse_ in Hindi. Naboo was meant to be my tutor, but he said I was too jingle-brained to learn much more than I already knew”.

“And you had no idea that you were heir to … all this?”, asked Howard curiously, waving a hand around.

Vince shook his head. “Not a whit. Papa was always called Lieutenant Noir, and treated the same as any officer. He said we had only one relative in England, his father. He made my grandfather sound … cruel and cold, so I didn't want to meet him, and I thought England must be cruel and cold as well. But it's not, it's beautiful. A completely different beauty to India”.

“It must have come as a shock, finding out”, Howard suggested.

“One shock after another”, Vince agreed. “Papa died of the cholera, and … oh, I missed him so much, Howard! I couldn't sit around crying though, because it seemed as if everyone around me was either dead, or had run away to escape the disease. Bollo took me into the jungle to live, away from people, because he said it was humans spreading the infection, and I would be safe with animals”.

“Is that where you learned to understand the speech of beasts?”, Howard asked.

“No, I could always do that”, Vince said. “And Bollo and I had often stayed in the jungle for several days at a time, but now it became our home, and if I ever saw a person, we had to slink deeper and deeper into the jungle to avoid them”.

“What about Naboo?”.

“He travelled to France, saying he would find my family to provide for me”, Vince said. “Because my mother was French, I thought he meant her family, who are bakers in Marseilles. I imagined I was going to spend the rest of my life making bread and cakes”.

Howard smiled at the thought, and said, “Where did Naboo go?”.

“To my father's cousin, Bryan de Ferry, who has a house in Paris”, Vince said. “Naboo told him that my father was dead, and explained about my mother and me. You see, Papa never told my grandfather that he was married and had a son, because he thought he would be angry he married a poor governess”.

“I heard …. that there were no papers”, Howard said, shifting uncomfortably.

“That's just a rumour”, said Vince. “It took a while because of the pandemic, but once Bryan came to India, he was able to find me, and see where Papa was buried. Naboo was able to locate all the documentation, and the lawyers went through everything carefully. Bryan showed me around Paris and London in the meantime, and helped me learn how to dress and so on, but the whole thing was only finalised just before I came of age in May”.

“And you are happy?”, Howard asked, looking closely at Vince's face, and noticing again the dark circles under his eyes.

“Oh, yes”, said Vince cheerily. “I love England and London, and the season was like a dream. And now the lawyers tell me I own this beautiful abbey as well, right next door to you”.

“You must ask your steward to help you make some improvements”, said Howard.

“I've only got a bailiff”, Vince said, “but he's already been over the property with me, and we've talked about what needs to be done”.

“I wonder why my own steward never knew that the abbey was owned by the Barons Noir of Camden”, frowned Howard.

“I think it was my grandfather's fault”, said Vince. “He had an absurd hatred of the abbey, and was convinced it was cursed. I think something bad happened here, and after that he refused to either sell it, or admit that he owned it. He just left it to rot”.

“The gardens are very overgrown”, said Howard, “but perfectly charming. And the lake is absolutely stuffed with fine trout. Do you like fishing?”.

“Oh yes”, said Vince. “We should take a boat out one evening”.

“Never after dark”, Howard warned him. “They say if you go on the lake at night, something will _get_ you”.

“Now I absolutely must try it”, said Vince with glee. “Did you know that at night, I can see the lights of your house from here? After we met on that hill, I used to come out and think about you, being so close, and yet I couldn't be with you”.

Howard flushed. “You could have come over”, he said gruffly, and quite untruthfully, as he'd been planning on having Vince turfed out if he ever tried that.

“You were so cross with me after I kissed you”, said Vince mischievously. “Did you think about it a lot?”.

“Sometimes”, said Howard with an embarrassed smile.

“Would you like another one?”.

Howard thought Vince was going to kiss him again, because he was leaning over, but instead all Vince said, with a glance behind him, was: “Here's Mrs Cresswell with tea”.

****************************************

After tea, Bollo carried Howard back to his room, and Naboo said he should be left alone to rest. Brooks had come and helped him undress and get into a properly fitting nightgown, and after he'd had a nap, Brooks brought him in some dinner, which was veal in white sauce.

Vince came in at bedtime after Mrs Cresswell had lit the fire and left him with a candle, simply asking, “Alright, Howard?”.

“Yes, I'm alright”, said Howard. “I dread the night though, because the pain in my ankle keeps me awake, and there's nothing to distract myself with”.

“And you don't want to take laudanum or opium syrup”, said Vince.

“No”, agreed Howard, looking away because of the reason he didn't want to take it.

“Well, Naboo has made up a herbal tincture for you”, said Vince. “He said it will help you to sleep and reduce the amount of pain you feel”.

“Is it like valerian?”, asked Howard.

“Yes, but it's not”, said Vince shortly.

Howard sniffed at the glass vial Vince held, but all herbal tinctures smell much alike. He obediently tipped back his head as Vince fed him with a generous spoonful.

“There you go, take your medicine like a good boy”, said Vince, putting the tincture away. “Are you wrapped up nice and warm?”.

“Yes, thank you. It's lovely and warm in here”, Howard said.

Vince sat on the bed and fluffed his pillows, before taking Howard's hand and whispering, “And now I'm going to kiss you goodnight”.

His lips fell softly onto Howard's, and although at first Howard stiffened, his mouth soon relaxed under Vince's gentle kisses.

“Still scared of the Wicked Baron?”, Vince asked with a little giggle.

“No, I think he's a bogeyman made up to frighten people”, said Howard boldly.

“Good”, said Vince, putting his hand behind Howard's head to draw him closer, and parting Howard's lips with his tongue.

Howard had no idea how long the kissing went on. It might have been a few minutes, or close to an hour. He was so warm and relaxed, and Vince almost lay on top of him as he teased Howard with the tip of his tongue, then allowed the kiss to deepen until Howard felt as if he was opening up to Vince's mouth, submitting to it. He felt vulnerable, but completely safe.

After a while their kissing became more passionate, until Vince pulled away to nibble on Howard's earlobe.

“You're making it really hard to control myself”, Vince murmured, beginning to kiss Howard's ear.

“Me? I'm hardly doing anything”, Howard protested, half sleepily.

“Mm, I know, that's what's driving me mad”, sighed Vince. “You keep letting me do whatever I want, and that puts all sorts of ideas in my mind”.

“Your mind doesn't have room for lots of ideas”, scoffed Howard teasingly.

“Well, it's mostly just one idea”, admitted Vince, as he dropped two light kisses onto Howard's eyelids, and sat back with an unconscious sigh. “See you tomorrow?”.

“As if I have any choice!”, said Howard, but he pulled Vince down towards him for one last kiss.

“Goodnight, Howard”, said Vince, nuzzling at Howard's temples and closing the door.

Howard was aware of a certain tightness in his body, a nagging tumescence. He sleepily put his hand between his legs and took care of it, spending himself before falling into a peaceful, contented, dreamless sleep.

**South Front and Lake at Newstead Abbey (19th century?). Nottinghamshire**

**County Library Service**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The description of the bedroom is based on the bedrooms at Newstead Abbey as they were in Byron's time.
> 
> chamber pot: a very necessary part of the bedroom furniture in times past, especially in a large house where there might be a very long walk to the toilets at night, and no lighting. They were kept in small cupboards called commodes, and emptying them every morning was yet another delightful task for household servants to attend to.
> 
> devilish: horrible.
> 
> Worksop: a Nottinghamshire market town about 7 miles from Harthill. Probably about an hour from the abbey by horse as a round trip.
> 
> lint: cheap low-quality cotton made from pressed together fibres. Sold in rolls that could be used as bandages.
> 
> Howard reads “Waverley”, by Sir Walter Scott (1814, published anonymously). One of the first modern historical novels, it made Scott instantly famous, and from then on, his novels were published as “By the author of “Waverley”.
> 
> apothecary: old word for a pharmacy, chemist's shop, or drugstore 
> 
> arnica: a herb that has for centuries been made into a cream used to treat pain and bruising. There isn't any solid evidence that it works, although it seems unlikely it would be so popular for so long if it was useless.
> 
> soft-topper: foolish person. 
> 
> In the 18th century, the word “placebo” referred to popular and commonplace medical treatments. Even then, it was understood that a lot of the time, medicines were given out just to make people feel as if the doctor was doing something to help, and this feeling of being cared for could go a long way toward making the patient feel more comfortable during their illness. They might not have had the phrase “placebo effect”, but they certainly understood the concept.
> 
> nuncheon: a light noon-day meal (what we would call lunch). Not considered very manly in this era – for some reason, eating during the day was thought of as something for women and children. Naboo might be trying to build up Howard's strength, or Howard and Vince aren't as bothered by doing “feminine” (or childish?) things.
> 
> creature: to us, an animal; in this era, any living being, including humans. 
> 
> blackamoor: person with black or dark skin. Technically refers to people from North Africa, but often used more generally.
> 
> bailiff: same as a steward, but more geared towards collecting rents and taking care of tenants than estate management. The bailiff often was the chief tenant on the estate.
> 
> Sorry about all the mentally unbalanced fathers in the story – it seems as if Regency romances always have at least a couple of loony dads or granddads in them. And Vince's father seems normal enough.
> 
> valerian: a herb often used as a relaxant and sleep aid.
> 
> You can probably guess what Naboo's herbal tincture contains, and this is something that Howard wouldn't have got from a Regency doctor. Marijuana was known, Napoleon gave it to his troops in countries where alcohol was forbidden (possibly them losing the war didn't do its reputation much good). However, it wasn't widely available, and didn't become a standard medical treatment until the mid 19th century.


	14. How Howard Healed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard's ankle gradually heals at Northwood Abbey – and maybe more of him as well.

Howard was at Northwood Abbey for ten days, and each one was very much like the first. In the mornings he read while Vince attended to estate business. If Vince had time, he would pop in, and perhaps play a game of spillikins or piquet (which Vince always won). In the afternoons, Vince and Howard sat by the lake until tea, and then Howard would rest, and have dinner in bed. Vince would always come in last thing to say goodnight, and give Howard his herbal tonic.

That first afternoon, Howard sat next to Vince, his sore ankle on a stool, and Vince tenderly gave him a little kiss. Howard returned it, with feeling.

“Did you ever do this with Tommy?”, Vince asked.

“No. We were just friends”, Howard said.

“Can I ask how Tommy died?”, said Vince.

“He took a sabre to the face”, Howard said quietly. “It sliced his nose off, and broke his jaw”.

Vince looked horrified. “I'm sorry, Howard. I should never have asked”.

“It's alright, Vince. I've never told anyone else. Tommy lived for a week after the battle, slowly rotting from the inside. I found him like that, and an hour later, he died in my arms. He choked to death, his lungs filled with mud and blood”.

“Howard, that must have messed you up badly”, Vince said, putting his arms tightly around Howard.

“Yes. I think perhaps it did”, Howard said in the same quiet voice. “After that I hated getting close to people, I could never get the stench of Tommy out of my nostrils, and it seemed as if everyone stunk like rotting flesh”.

“You've never seemed to mind with me”, Vince said with a little tremble in his voice.

“You wear lovely perfume”, said Howard with a smile. “And even underneath that, you don't smell like other people”.

“I don't?”, Vince asked in surprise.

“No. It's a smell more like a healthy animal”, said Howard. “I don't mind animal smells, like Miranda and Ruffle. Even Bollo”.

“Is it weird I don't smell human?”, Vince asked curiously.

“Not really. That's how I gave Brooks and Barley their jobs – they don't smell”, Howard explained. “Barley doesn't have any odour at all, and Brooks is the son of my shepherd. He smelt of sheep, and now he's a trained valet, he always smells of the creams and lotions he uses in his job”.

“Oh good. I was wondering if you liked me just because of my smell!”, laughed Vince. “But if that was the case, you would have fallen for Brooks and Barley. Er, you haven't, have you?”.

“Perish the thought!”, said Howard, with a slight shudder.

“Oh well, a lot of men do with their valets!”, giggled Vince. “Not that I would with Bollo”.

“Bollo is your valet?”.

“Yeah, he's actually got got quite a good eye for fashion”, Vince said. “He was the one who picked me out that pink feathery suit”.

“Chosen by a gorilla, all is explained”, said Howard understandingly.

“Sauce mouth”, said Vince, leaning down to kiss all the sauciness from Howard's tongue.

It took a long time to remove all the sauce from Howard, and when he finished, Vince looked sleepy-eyed, as if he would have liked to go straight to bed. Instead he took Howard's hand, and the two of them gazed foolishly at each other until Mrs Cresswell arrived with the tea.

****************************************

Vince was late coming in at bedtime, and Howard was getting more and more restless and keyed-up waiting for him. He even wondered if Vince was coming at all – perhaps the story about Tommy had put him right off Howard.

Vince arrived half an hour later than before, and already dressed in his own nightshirt, covered up with a brightly patterned silk dressing gown and a pair of velvet slippers. He gave Howard his herbal medicine, which was kept next to the bed. Strangely enough, Howard never thought of taking the medicine by himself – it was only to be swallowed at Vince's hand.

“Is it okay if I jump into bed with you, Howard?”, Vince asked. “It's a bit cold being on the outside”.

Howard lifted up with counterpane and let Vince slide in, once he'd taken off his dressing gown and slippers and thrown them on a nearby chair. They shyly let their fingers entwine around each other, and Howard put his lips to Vince's hand, kissing it almost reverently. Vince pulled Howard forward; Howard responded at once, and Vince's mouth met his.

Howard still felt a bit panicky when he kissed, but the medicine was helping him to relax, and Vince's lips were moving very gently against his own, a series of tiny kisses given without pause. His movements were careful and comforting, with closed mouth, so that it was Howard who parted his lips, as inviting him in. Vince made a noise of pleasure low in his throat, but even then continued with his soft, slow kissing, their hands still locked together in front of their thudding hearts. They kissed until Vince's body felt so familiar that Howard could forget it wasn't his own.

“What did you do after I left last night?”, Vince murmured.

“I tossed myself off”, Howard answered.

Vince giggled. “I'd like to see that. Show me? Please?”.

Howard blushingly pulled the blankets down a little and raised his nightshirt so that his hand was gripping his cock. He pulled himself a few times, until the head of his cock was red and swollen, beginning to be moist.

“Oh, that's glorious”, breathed Vince. “Let me try that”.

And a moment later Howard was being held, Vince's hand around him in a way which made him instantly let out a loud moan, in the most embarrassing way possible. Vince murmured a stream of blush-making praise and encouragement as he stroked slowly from root to tip and back again. When he began pumping faster, twisting his sturdy fingers around the head and smearing moisture with each stroke, he unexpectedly found an emboldened Howard had reached out for him in return.

At first Howard handled him awkwardly – everything felt the wrong way around – but a moment or two later, he tried a different angle which elicited a breathy whimper of pleasure from Vince. Howard immediately tangled his fingers in Vince's hair, and pulled him in for a desperate kiss, their mouths and hands working in unison until a great tidal wave of pleasure overtook Howard, the most powerful spending he could ever remember. This time they had lasted minutes, rather than seconds, together.

“Did you like that?”, asked Vince, in a teasing voice, because he knew Howard had.

“It was incomparable”, said Howard with deep satisfaction.

“Is that something good?”.

“Very good”.

“Can we do it again?”.

“Have a heart. We're not all twenty-one”, Howard said with a groan.

Vince giggled. “I don't mean right _now_. I mean … do you want to keep doing this? With me?”.

He actually sounded slightly worried, and Howard firmly grabbed his hip, tugging Vince towards him. He kept his hand up Vince's nightshirt, cupping his arse, and kissed his forehead.

“I mean, you're not going to run away again?”, Vince said, as if still unconvinced.

“What, with this ankle?”, snorted Howard. “But I don't want to run, anyway. I want to stay here”.

“Good. Because I want to stay all night with you”, said Vince, his lips on Howard's neck.

“Yes. Yes. Yes”, Howard said. “Oh, _yes_ ”. Because Vince was kissing and biting his neck, and it felt so good Howard thrust himself against Vince and gave a moan.

“Oh, you like that. Mm”, Vince purred, his hand sliding between Howard's thighs, taking ownership of him again. They took their time the second time, and afterwards Vince cuddled up to sleep in Howard's arms all night.

****************************************

There was only one day of the ten that was chilly and wet, and that day they brought the warmth and sunshine inside by lighting a fire in the library. Bollo carried Howard in to lie on a green velvet sofa before the fireplace, and Vince sat on the floor near his head. Howard noticed that Vince no longer had dark rings under his eyes, and his hair was hanging loose around his shoulders again, having been taken out of its queue. He was wearing a bright red coat, having given up his all-black costume.

They played games of cribbage together, and Vince showed Howard his sketchbook.

“These pictures …. they're so beautiful and unusual”, Howard said. “What is this one?”.

“That's Charlie, a monster made from pink gum arabic”, said Vince casually. “He's a gentleman though – look at his hat”.

“Very imaginative”, said Howard. “And this crocodile?”.

“That's Enrico Fillipo, a Mexican crocodile who dabbles in black magic”.

“There's a lot of monsters and magic”, commented Howard as he flipped over to another page.

“Well, you see Howard, the abbey feels as if it's filled with ancient magic”, said Vince thoughtfully. “India is full of magic, but England has its own kind of magic, and when I draw, I can feel it coursing through my fingers”.

“You're magical”, said Howard, leaning down to kiss Vince's pointed chin. “You're so beautiful, you barely seem real”.

Vince responded by coming to lounge on the sofa near Howard, pressing himself close in order to lie half on top of Howard, and kiss him gently on the lips and down the neck until he was nibbling on his ear lobe.

“Vince … you are causing me some discomfort”, Howard complained, squirming beneath him.

“Oh, do you feel uncomfortable _here_ , Howard?”, Vince asked sweetly, his hands circling where he thought the discomfort might lie.

“Yes, that's exactly where, you little minx”, Howard said, beginning to sound breathless.

“Well, as a gentleman, it's only right that having caused you discomfort, I try to give you some relief from it”, Vince said in the most devilishly innocent voice. And he did one more circle, and undid Howard's uncomfortably tight breeches.

“Vince, please”, Howard begged ambiguously, and then Vince used his tongue to lap at what he found in Howard's breeches. “What if someone comes in?”. He sounded genuinely nervous.

“Nobody will come in, Howard”, Vince reassured him in honeyed tones, and then he took Howard in his mouth, and Howard was unable to talk coherently any more.

He groaned and cursed and begged and praised while Vince's head bobbed on him, and he twisted his fingers into Vince's dark hair and bucked into his mouth, and finally warned, “Vince, I'm really close, I can't …. _Vince_!”. But Vince didn't stop, not even when Howard was spent, his mouth kept kissing him, even in his softness, until Howard felt as if he'd melted like a candle at the end of its wick.

Mrs Cresswell backed hastily out of the room. She had come to ask if they'd prefer drop scones or pikelets for tea, and her timid knock being ignored, she had tried the door handle, for in her experience, once gentlemen got their head in a book, they often didn't hear a thing until you were almost on top of them. It was clear at once that the gentlemen weren't reading.

Mrs Cresswell was a great believer in not judging lest she be judged, to the point where she found it easier to barely think at all. She decided not to think about this either, and with great courage, made up her own mind. They were having pikelets.

****************************************

It was dark and stormy that night and Howard woke some time after midnight to find Vince gone, and a great bolt of lightning tearing across the sky. He could see lights outside through a gap in the curtains, and wondered if it was coming from lamps in the library or drawing room. Except … no, from this room, you could only see the ruined part of the abbey, which was all covered in ivy. He wondered uneasily if these were the lights that local people swore they could sometimes see at night over the abbey.

He cursed his injured ankle, which stopped him from immediately setting forth in search of Vince. Quite unable to sleep, he lit the candle, and began reading a moth-eaten book he had found in the library the other day, a slim volume called _Legends of the Old Abbey at Northwood_ by Lucian Noir. It was the belief of the author that some kind of mystical or occult brotherhood had been secretly meeting at the abbey for centuries, perhaps even in the days when it had been a working abbey full of monks.

Furthermore, there was a terrifying legend of some kind of demonic water beast, perhaps part-human, which lived in a cave under the deep dark waters of the lake. It was said that anyone so foolish as to go fishing on the lake at night, especially under a full moon, risked being taken by the creature. Lucian knew of at least one man who had disappeared under these circumstances, while another had survived, but was for ever after a babbling idiot. Local people called the creature Aged Gregorius.

The book abruptly stopped after just a few chapters, and there was a postscript by Rufus Noir, Vince's grandfather. He noted that his older brother Lucian had been the 4th Baron Noir of Camden, but his untimely death without issue had left his grieving brother Rufus to inherit the title. Lucian had been investigating the beast in the lake one night beneath the full moon, and the next morning his corpse had been discovered, floating in the lake. His hair had turned white overnight, and his features were frozen into an expression of horror.

Rufus believed that Lucian had been killed by Aged Gregorius, and vowed to never again visit Northwood Abbey, and to allow it to crumble into dust. He had paid for his brother's manuscript to be published, in the hope of warning others never to go there, or at least to go fully forewarned of its dangers.

Howard shivered. The book hadn't been very comforting, and he was glad when he heard Vince come back to bed. He had wet hair, and was wearing a heavy coat and boots over his nightshirt, throwing them off in order to find warmth with Howard.

“I'm so cold”, he said, his teeth chattering. “Warm me up, Howard”.

Howard did his best to wrap himself around Vince and give him some of his body warmth. “Where have you been, Vince? And what are the lights I saw in the ruins?”, he demanded.

“It's the shamans”, Vince said, snuggling closer.

“What are they?”, Howard asked sharply.

“Magic men”, said Vince, putting his head on Howard's chest. “Naboo is a shaman, and so are Saboo and Kirk. But there are more of them. Dennis, Tony, Dianne, Barry, Jackie, and Andy. And more I don't know”.

“Is this the mystical brotherhood your Great-Uncle Lucian warned of?”, Howard asked, disturbed.

“Dunno”, said Vince. “They've been meeting here for ages though. And they have some connection with the Noir family – they were the ones who let my cousin Bryan know that I was the true heir to the title, and was alive in India”.

“And your father just happened to hire Naboo to take care of you?”, frowned Howard. “That seems more than a coincidence”.

“It does, doesn't it?”, agreed Vince. “I think Papa must have known the shamans too, just as they found a way to meet me. I know they must seem a bit strange, but I think they might be here to protect me”.

“And can you promise me they are not evil? They don't use black magic, or worship demons?”, Howard asked urgently.

“No, I'm sure they are not evil”, Vince said after a moment. “I don't think they are exactly good, or use white magic, or worship angels, but they are not evil either. They are … something neither good nor evil. Something completely different to both those things”.

“As long as they are here for your benefit, then that's alright”, Howard said in relief. “I was so worried when I woke up and found you gone”.

“I'm here now, Howard”, Vince said affectionately. “I'll stay here for the rest of the night”. He snuggled into Howard's shoulder after swiping a kiss across his cheek.

Howard went blissfully to sleep, thinking about the library that afternoon, and how he had repaid Vince for it at bedtime.

****************************************

After a week, Naboo told Howard it was time for him to start exercising his ankle, and then each morning and afternoon Vince would walk him around the gardens. At first he could only take a few steps before needing to sit down, but gradually Howard became stronger, and was able to walk more and more each time. Vince held his hand, or walked with his arm around Howard's waist to support him, and made sure he didn't get overtired.

On his last day at the abbey, Howard was able to walk quite a way across the grounds of Northwood Abbey, right to the edge of the park, where clumps of trees began to merge with the woods beyond it. At last he started to tire, and rested his back against a great oak tree which was almost completely surrounded by rhododendrons, still holding Vince's hand.

Vince pressed himself against Howard, and kissed him deeply. He undid Howard's cravat, and ran his finger down his neck, his mouth following the line until he was nuzzling at Howard's throat. Howard groaned, and pulled Vince tighter into his body, while Vince's clever fingers were undoing both their breeches. They rutted against each other, their breeches around their ankles, Howard holding firmly onto Vince's slender hips. Vince gave a triumphant shout, and then they were kissing each other sloppily while Howard was busy cleaning up with his silk handkerchief.  
On the other side of the rhododendrons, Mr Cresswell decided to take quite a different path to where he was going, and to prune some other sort of shrub. He blamed his deafness for getting so close in the first place, for really, the young gentlemen had become quite vocal towards the end.

When Howard returned to his room after tea, Brooks said, “I trust my lord had a pleasant afternoon?”. He smirked at Howard's missing cravat, the oak leaves in his tousled hair, and the unmistakable scent of semen coming from his pocket handkerchief.

“A wonderful afternoon, thank you Brooks”, said Howard, giving his valet a warm smile. “Perhaps you could help me dress for dinner now”.

****************************************

On this last night at the Abbey, Howard told Vince he didn't need his herbal tincture, for he was no longer in any serious pain, and wasn't having any trouble sleeping now that he had Vince with him.

Vince gave Howard a quick kiss, and Howard said, “It was quite tiring walking today. Would you mind if we just … hold each other, little man?”.

“Sure it was only the walking that tired you out?”, said Vince innocently.

“Vixen”, said Howard, with a wolfish smile, running his lips down Vince's cheek and ending on his mouth.

Vince settled into Howard's arms with a contented sigh, as Howard gently stroked his hair. He suddenly realised he was quite tired too, and drifted off to sleep within a few minutes.

****************************************

Vince woke in the night, convinced something was wrong. Howard was having a bad dream, moving his head from side to side on the pillow, as if wherever he lay his head, it hurt.

“Vince”, Howard whimpered. “Vince, where are you, Vince?”.

“I'm right here, Howard”, Vince said, soothing Howard's brow with his hand.

“Stay with me, little man”, said Howard, still half within his dream, turning his face towards Vince, and breathing more easily.

“I'm not going anywhere”, Vince vowed, and he held Howard until he had fallen into a more restful sleep.

**The library at Newstead Abbey. Photo by Photo Maestro.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spillikins is the original form of pick-up-sticks, where you have to remove sticks from a pile without disturbing any other sticks. Piquet is a French card game, and cribbage an English one where you keep score on a board.
> 
> Barley not having any smell suggests he has a medical condition where his sweat glands are blocked. I had a friend with this condition, and she had no body odour at all (eventually she had surgery to correct it, in adulthood). She was advised not to do any heavy exercise in case she overheated and collapsed, and it occurred to me that being a butler would be a good job for Barley, as most men from the rural working class would end up doing physical labour, such as being a field hand. Howard has spared Barley this, possibly saving his life.
> 
> queue: I think I forgot to say this was the original word for a ponytail. Men in the army and navy wore their hair in this style.
> 
> gum arabic: gum from acacia trees, originally imported from Arabia; by the Regency period it was mostly coming from West Africa. It had many uses commercially, and was especially used in glues, pharmaceuticals, and art supplies. It was one of the main ingredients when they began making chewing gum.
> 
> Enrico Fillipo is based on Eric Phillips, the crocodile magician Charlie met in LA. American readers will be aware that Los Angeles belonged to Mexico during this period, so “Eric” is a Mexican crocodile in this world. 
> 
> Drop scones are Scottish pancakes or griddle cakes. Pikelet is the original name for a crumpet, commonly known in the Midlands and North of England. Before the Victorian era, they were made without yeast and were like hard pancakes, quite flat, but with the characteristic pores on the surface. You can see that Mrs Cresswell is offering them a choice of two very similar dishes. I imagine that Mrs Cresswell's culinary skills are limited.
> 
> The Creswells lived next door to Howard's parents in my story “Married on the Morrow”. As in this story, Howard and Vince accidentally had sex in front of Mrs Cresswell. I figured servants would have had to learn to pretend not to see and hear sexual activity in their household, especially as they were trained to be quiet and unobtrusive.
> 
> A lot of physical interaction between Howard and Vince in this chapter. I tried to describe their erotic scenes using only a vocabulary available from the period; I'm not sure if it worked or not. I can see why Regency romances often fade out once they go into the bedroom.


	15. Riding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince takes Howard for a ride on a wet night in Harthill.

At last it was time for Howard to go home. A carriage arrived from Harthill, driven by Tully, the groom, and Howard and Brooks settled themselves in with the luggage.

"Thank your for your hospitality", said Howard, rather formally, "and for some first-class medical care. I hope that you will feel free to visit me at Harthill, for as we are neighbours now, you must drop in whenever you feel like it, sir. We do not stand on ceremony in this country".

“Just try keeping me away”, threatened Vince jokingly as he waved Howard goodbye down the carriage drive.

That first day home, Howard was welcomed by all the servants as he leaned on the carriage and explained that he'd injured his ankle and had to stay at Northwood Abbey, where he'd been shown nothing but kindness, and was now almost quite well.

Barley brought Howard's mail into his office, where he almost immediately found that he had lots of work to catch up on. There was a very welcome letter from Lady Augusta – welcome because she wrote to say that her nieces had contracted chickenpox in Weymouth, and she had to stay in London to help care for them. It had started with Jane, and then each child had fallen, the family going down like a pack of dominoes.

Howard was so immediately grateful to the Howard children for getting sick that he felt terribly guilty. So guilty that he immediately wrote to Fortnum & Mason for a hamper of treats, to Hatchards for books and stationery, and to various other stores for dolls, spinning tops, toy theatres, and most wonderful of all, a Kaleidoscope, and had them all delivered to the Howard children, in order to help their convalescence pass more easily.

You might think his guilt had been a very expensive emotion, but it was well rewarded by a letter received a week later from Lady Augusta's sister-in-law, Lady Howard, who thanked him for his excessive generosity, and invited him to stay in Cavendish Square with them whenever he liked _… for the children are so very pleased with everything you sent that I believe they would as lief meet their kind god-cousin as Father Christmas!_

Howard worked in his office all morning, and in the afternoon he went to his library and curled up in an armchair with a book, a blissful Ruffle on his lap getting patted and stroked. She had been so excited to see him come home, and now she nuzzled her wet nose into his hand. Here he was, in his own home, surrounded by familiar things. He should have been content, but instead he felt bored and lonely. He put down his book on economic theory, and heaved a sigh, looking out the library window.

It was then Howard saw a slim figure walking through the orchard, long dark hair swinging loose on his shoulders, dressed for a visit in his bright yellow waistcoat and his jaunty Turf-style hat. Feeling almost comically happy, he ran out into the autumn sunshine, Ruffle scampering at his heels.

“Vince, what are you doing here?”, Howard called. “I'm so glad to see you”. Ruffle jumped up on Vince's legs and whined until he patted her and told her she was a good dog.

“I came to remind you to keep up your exercise”, Vince said with a grin. “Naboo said you need to go for a walk every day, to keep your ankle strong”.

“Thank you”, said Howard. “Would you care to accompany me on a stroll through the shrubbery?”.

Vince agreed, and Ruffle made happy excited barking noises as they walked through the orchard, and into the shrubbery, their boots crunching on the gravel.

“This shrubbery was laid out by my Great-Great Grandfather, Sir William Moon”, Howard said. “Shrubberies were just coming into fashion at that time”.

“Indeed, sir, you surprise me”, said Vince blankly, who wondered that Howard treated him like a stranger.

“It is designed to take you on a walk which ends at the terrace”, Howard instructed, “and the trees and shrubs are cunningly chosen so as to hide one from both the house, and from those on the edge of the property. It is completely private here”.

“So no one could see should I take your hand, for example?”, Vince said with a smile.

“No, little man. That would be for us alone”, replied Howard, as they linked hands beneath a lilac tree and kept walking.

A little later, Howard said, “One is expected to rest a little here, and admire the view”, as they came to an alcove with a garden seat and a classical statue from where you could see over the rolling fields of the Harthill estate.

They both sat down, and as a bored Ruffle began nosing through the shrubbery in the belief that it was the home of millions of rabbits and pheasants, Vince put his arms around Howard and kissed him hungrily.

“I missed you so much”, Vince murmured. “I was going mad without you. I was ready for Bedlam”.

“We only saw each other this morning”, Howard protested, although still yielding to Vince's mouth.

“Too long”, muttered Vince, and soon they were both lost in the pleasure of each other's bodies.

****************************************

Here began the happiest time of his life that Howard could ever remember. Vince came over almost every day, leaving his horse in the Harthill stables under Tully's care, and walking through the orchard and into the library, rather than going to the front door and formally asking Barley if he might be permitted entrance. They walked in the garden together, or rode their horses over the fields, Howard's sturdy mare Miranda struggling to keep up with Vince's magnificent chestnut, Sunflash. And on the rare days Vince didn't come to Harthill, Howard would ride over to Northwood Abbey to have dinner and stay the night.

On the last day of September, Vince arrived just as tea was being served in the library. Howard quickly asked for a second cup to be brought, and another slice of moggy cake. A sunny but breezy morning had turned cold and overcast in the afternoon, and a few dots of rain had begun falling just as Vince opened the door. Within minutes, Howard and Vince were curled up on the sofa in front of the fire in the library, watching the rain come down in sheets to drench the orchard. Ruffle lay between them, asking to be stroked and have her ears rubbed.

Eventually Howard said that the rain seemed to be setting in, and Vince must stay to dinner. Howard kept country hours, so that dinner was served at six without any airs and graces, although Ruffle was taken to the kitchen for her dinner. She was supposed to sleep in the kitchen too, but one of the maids, young enough to still miss sleeping with her siblings, let Ruffle sleep in bed with her.

The fire was lit in the drawing room, and they sat at the tea table there, the dining room being too cold and cavernous for two people. Howard and Vince held hands under the table as they ate their way through mutton pie topped with potato, roast partridge with French beans, and lemon jelly.

“Thank you, Mrs Featherstone. You're a genius cook”, said Vince, when the housekeeper came to clear away. “I never knew English food could taste that good”.

“That's most kind of you, my lord”, said Mrs Featherstone with a rare smile.

Without Howard ever saying anything, somehow all the staff knew who Vince was, that he owned the abbey next door, had come out from India, travelled on the Continent, and was Howard's most particular friend. They had seen how happy and easily pleased Howard had been since he'd stayed at Northwood Abbey, and were eager for him to remain so.

While Howard poured them a brandy, Vince wandered around looking at the paintings on the walls, and then spotted a Spanish guitar, leaning against the sofa as if Howard had only meant to put it down for a moment.

“Do you play, Howard?”, Vince asked with interest.

“Oh, a bit”, said Howard modestly.

“Play something”, begged Vince. “I love guitar music. It's so romantic sounding”.

“This is something I wrote a while ago”, said Howard. “It's called _Sad Sonnet_ ”.

He played a few chords in the style of an Elizabethan ballad, and then began singing:

_Oh dear one, lily-scented, skin like cream_  
_Your lips warm and luscious, tasting of wine_  
_Eyes of sky, bright as day, fair as a dream_  
_Sunlight smile, creamy hands, never to be mine._

“You wrote a song about me?”, said Vince, his eyes alight. “It's beautiful, but out of date – I _am_ yours now”.

Howard's cheeks turned pink, as he said, “Do you ever write songs, Vince?”.

“I've written a few words of one”, admitted Vince. “But I don't know how to finish it, and I can't play any music for it”.

Howard offered to play in the background if Vince would recite his song. Vince frowned, and looked at the floor, before haltingly singing in a surprisingly deep voice.

_Will you still love me tomorrow, my darling, or will I always be alone?_  
_Are we to be together forever and a day or will life always be this way?_

_Because I dreamed of a hedge_  
_Where you laid your head_  
_The grass was red_  
_The seagull screamed_  
_What can it mean?_  
_Was it just a dream?_  
_Am I too obscene for your eyes?_

_Can I ever love?_  
_Will I ever touch?_  
_Can I ever see?_  
_Can I ever find what I need?_

"It's not finished", said Vince, breaking off abruptly. "I don't know how it ends. It probably sounds idiotish, anyway".

"It's beautiful", Howard said, "but so sad. Sadder than my song. And why was the grass red?".

"Dunno", Vince said. "Just something I dreamed one time, you lying in a hedge surrounded by red grass, and a seagull calling overhead. I painted a picture of it, and it made me feel so lonely that I cried, and didn't know why".

"We've got too sad playing music", Howard said. "Let's cheer ourselves up by doing something silly".

So they played spillikins, and made up funny songs together, not sad ones. Alone they wrote sad things, together they wrote foolish ones about sticks and shrubberies that made them both roar with laughter.

****************************************

When nine o'clock came, it was still raining heavily, and Howard called for Mrs Featherstone to tell her Lord Noir would be staying the night.

“Very good, my lord”, she said briskly. “Shall I make up the large guest room?”.

“No, the small one”, Howard said. “It's warmer, nearer to mine own, and we can share the parlour for breakfast tomorrow”.

Mrs Featherstone nodded, and as she supervised some maids to bring the small guest room up to her standards of prettiness and comfort, Brooks came to attend to both Howard and Vince in Howard's dressing room. He undressed them both, and then they washed themselves with soap, a bowl, and a ewer of warm water, before Brooks dressed them for the night in nightshirts and dressing gowns (Vince's too big for him). Vince said his valet brushed his hair for one hundred strokes every night, which Brooks did, although muttering he wasn't a blood lady's maid.

Once decently attired, Howard gave his approval to Mrs Featherstone's work. “Very nice, very suitable”, he said, seeing the bed-curtains opened, the bed-covers turned down, the down pillows fluffed, a fire in the grate, a candlestick lit, and a vase of autumn leaves on the mantelpiece.

“Thank you, my lord”, she replied. “The bed has been warmed, and there are extra blankets should Lord Noir want them, as the nights begin to be chill”.

“Goodnight, Mrs Featherstone”, said Howard. “Don't worry about our breakfast in the morning. We shall make our own in the little parlour”.

“Goodnight, my lords”, said Mrs Featherstone, thinking what a lot of mess they would probably make.

At last everyone had left, and Howard was able to lock and bolt the door which led to his private apartments, knowing that he and Vince were alone together all night and wouldn't be disturbed.

“Your house is so comfortable”, Vince said, as they lay on the fur rug in front of the fireplace in Vince's room to keep warm. “Your servants spoil you by making everything perfect”.

“I think they might be spoiling you”, Howard said with a smile. “They like you, and want you to like coming here”.

“They succeeded, I love it”, Vince said happily, curling his toes into the carpet.

“Can I … kiss you please?”, Howard asked in a hoarse voice, looking into those big blue eyes, shining in the candlelight.

“I wish you would”, Vince said quietly, without moving.

Howard leaned over, touching his mouth carefully to Vince's. His lips felt so familiar, and a deep tension uncoiled in Howard at last, a weight of guilt and loss he’d carried too long falling away. He groaned. Vince mumbled into his mouth, grabbing a handful of curls, and Howard gently bit at his lip, pulling him forward. Vince slid down between Howard's legs, sending him sprawling back. Vince's weight was on him now, pushing him down, and he wanted this. Wanted to be kissed and devoured and more. He grabbed Vince's arse with both hands, ground his pelvis up, pressing cock to cock.

“Oh, Howard.” Vince pulled his mouth away, eyes wide with delight. “Oh, you're beautiful.”

“You're stunning.” Howard curled downward to get his mouth on Vince's ear, heard him moan his arousal.

“I want …”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. Just keep kissing me.”

Howard rolled his hips under Vince, his erection almost unbearably teased by the friction between them.

“Tell me. What were you going to say?”

Vince leaned forward and licked at Howard's mouth, opening his lips with the touch of his tongue. “Well, I was just thinking that I should love to ride you”.

“I don't know if I'd like that”, Howard said uncertainly. “I tried it once before, and it … didn't end well”.

“Do you want to try again?”, Vince asked softly. “With me?”.

“Now?”, asked Howard nervously. But he nodded, because it was Vince, and he was in his arms, and their mouths were together, warm and delicious.

Vince knelt over Howard, who felt shivery rather than aroused. “You're so lovely”. Vince ran a hand over Howard's thigh as though gentling a horse. “I want you so much”.

He gazed at Howard with blue eyes filled with worship, then hiked up his nightshirt to show an impressive stand, jutting from the thick dark hair at his groin. Howard was suddenly reminded how big Vince was. _Oh God. Remember to breathe. Keep breathing. Deep, even breaths._

Vince looked at him with concern, and Howard sat up a little to kiss him, concentrating on their lips and tongues, the feel and smell of Vince against him, that sweet wild panther among the tropical lilies scent.

Vince pulled away slightly. “Do you have oil?”.

“Oil?”, Howard repeated blankly. “For what?”.

Vince frowned. “For … You said you did this before?”.

“I said I _tried_ it before”, Howard reminded him.

“But you didn't use oil?”.

“Were we meant to?”, Howard asked worriedly. He was beginning to feel foolish and virginal under Vince's serious gaze.

“Did it …. hurt?”, Vince asked, with trepidation. Howard's expression betrayed him, because Vince made a furious noise, almost an animal growl. “The brute, the damned brute! How dare he use you like that!”.

“We didn't know”, Howard said, halfway between laughter and crying. “We were only boys”.

He remembered the fumbling attempt he and his friend Horace had made while at Eton. There had been a lot of pain, and remorseful tears on both sides. He hadn't enjoyed it, and it had convinced him for years that he was unable to take pleasure with men, but Horace had only been ignorant, like himself, not cruel.

“We'll do better”, vowed Vince, “but not tonight”.

“I want to”, Howard said.

Vince took Howard's face in his hands and kissed him full on the mouth, hard and intense. Howard held onto Vince's shoulder, and opened his mouth to the kiss, feeling Vince's tongue, the slide of lips, fingers down his bare skin. He pressed closer, sliding his thigh around Vince's, feeling a hand come to grip his arse. Vince's lips as they moved from his mouth, nibbled his ear, worked down his throat, Vince’s tongue pressed into the hollow of his collarbone, sent ripples of pleasure through him.

“It’s not that I don’t want you,” Vince whispered against his cheek. His hands skidded lightly over Howard’s arse. “I want to so much.” Fingers closing on buttocks and a little, tiny tug apart. “You’ll love it. I promise. You’ll be begging for more.” He was kneading Howard’s firm flesh, pulling his hips in so cock rubbed against cock. “I’m going to bugger you till you turn molly. When you’re ready.”

Howard could believe it, with Vince’s roaming fingers gently probing him. “We could try,” he managed.

“Not tonight.” Vince grip eased a little. “I want to do it properly. And with oil”.

“You’ve done it?”, Howard questioned. He wanted someone who knew what they were doing, this time.

Vince gave him a truly filthy grin. He looked more like a rogue than a gentleman, and it made Howard’s breath catch in his throat. “I take either part. Would I be your first?”

Howard nodded. “As it happens … I do have oil. Linseed. For boots.”

“Really?,” Vince murmured, trailing his hand over Howard’s thigh and down. “Then perhaps if you like …”.

“I want you to do it.” Howard hadn’t intended to say it, the words spilled out. He jumped to his feet, needing to move. “Oil?.”

Vince looked at him intently when he returned with from the dressing room with it. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“If you want to stop, just say.” Howard nodded. Vince took his hand. “Then lie down, sweetheart. And talk to me. Tell me what it feels like.”

It felt … slippery. Slithery. Intrusive in a deeply alarming way, as Vince’s finger circled and probed. Howard lay back on the rug, breathing deeply, not allowing himself to wonder what he was doing, and Vince knelt between his legs and murmured soft words of praise.

“Beautiful. Oh, you’re lovely. I hope you like this because I’ve wanted to ride you for so long…”

Howard inhaled sharply.

“How does that feel?”

“It feels like your finger is up my arse”, came the slightly tense reply.

Vince grinned at him. His hand was working, pressing against the ring of muscle, one finger flexing inside Howard as the others massaged his skin. He let out a long breath. “Just relax a little. I’m going to…”

“Jesus!” Howard yelped as Vince’s finger hit something inside him that sent pleasure bolting through his nerves. “What …?”.

“Thought you’d like it,” Vince said smugly. “Legs apart. Tell me if it’s good.”

“Oh, God.” He was pushing against Vince’s hand, he realised, couldn’t help it. The sensation inside him was maddening. His cock was standing again, and Vince leaned forward with a grin and took it in his lips.

“Vince,” Howard whispered, feeling both pleasured and violated. “Oh, sweet Christ.”

He arched back, hopelessly exposed: legs apart, throat bare, naked and open and defenceless. Vince sucked and rubbed, stroking him inside and out until Howard was writhing, helpless under his hands, and in grave danger of spending.

Vince pulled away. “Shall I finish you like this?”.

“No. More.”

“I need to open you up,” Vince said softly, and Howard felt a second oiled finger probing at his entrance.

Howard braced his legs wide and let Vince’s murmurs wash over him. “Oh, my Howard. So good, so lovely. So perfect. So desperate for it.”

“I'm what?”, Howard croaked.

“You’re desperate,” Vince repeated. He leaned forward, two fingers still rhythmically moving to create a definite sensation of stretch, bracing himself with his other hand, so their faces were close. “You’ve needed a good fuck as long as I’ve known you. So nervous and twitchy, so stiff and proper.” His tongue flicked out, over Howard’s parted lips. “Why hasn’t anyone given you a good, hard ride before now?”.

“There was nobody of sufficient insolence”, Howard said, trying to tease. Vince’s loving smile made it even harder to breathe than the strange and increasingly pleasurable sensations caused by his fingers. “Oh, God. Please?”

Vince moved off a little, gently sliding his fingers out. Howard stared up at the ceiling, obeyed Vince’s instructions and the push of hands against thighs. This was …everything that he had long tried to avoid, but it was Vince too, it was warmth and life and simple cheerfulness, and he had been without those things too long.

“Tell me if you want to stop. I love you”, Vince said.

It hurt, but not like spraining his ankle. He wasn't going to faint from the pain. Howard breathed out as Vince pushed in, staying in control. He told himself to relax.

“How does it feel?” Vince asked.

“Strange.”

Vince leaned forward. He pushed again, and Howard felt his cock sliding a little further in. One more, and something inside Howard gave way.

Vince’s eyes were intent on him. “You feel really good.” Vince leaned forward. He braced one hand on the floor by Howard’s face, the other to his shoulder, and began to move. Slow thrusts, careful, trying to make it good. Howard pushed back, just a little at first, and then again. “Oh. Do that again.” Vince came down to his elbows, closing the gap between their bodies.

Howard closed his arms around him, holding on to his bony shoulders, moved under him in rhythm. Vince’s face was intent and alive with pleasure, and his body was taking over Howard’s, leaving him no space and no barriers. Vince’s mouth came down on his, and Howard welcomed it, clutching and rocking against him.

Vince moaned and reared up a little so his hand enclosed Howard’s cock. “Is it good?”

“Yes. Yes. Oh God.” Vince was changing the angle of his strokes now, shallow ones that pressed against whatever the devil it was that sent pleasure quivering through him, stroking Howard’s cock. “Oh sweet Jesus. You ...”.

“I knew you’d like it,” Vince whispered. “I knew I could make you feel it.”

There was no shortage of feeling. Howard’s skin was hot and tight, his body open and invaded, Vince’s hand and prick wringing sensation from him, and no resistance left anywhere now. He arched helplessly into Vince, giving it up, giving it all up to him. It was if Vince had turned up the gas in his mind, or filled it with a million lighted candles, burning through the darkness.

“Oh, yes.” Vince’s voice was thick, his grip sure and knowing. “I could spend just watching you. My beautiful Howard. I wanted this so much and you look so good, you feel so good.”

Howard cried out. Vince gave a hiss of pleasure, and even as Howard was spending in his hand, thighs and arse clenching tight, he thrust. Far deeper this time, not the shallow strokes that had brought Howard off but an overwhelming drive. There was a moment of feeling that Vince was riding him over a precipice, everything too much, too fast, too big, and then Vince gasped, “Oh, I love you. I'm going to ...”.

All Howard could do was hold on while every part of his body throbbed, and his eyes watered with Vince’s need. Vince collapsed forward, landing on Howard’s chest with a force that made them both grunt.

“You felt so amazing, I couldn't make myself wait”, Vince said, with a note of contrition. He pushed himself a little up to look into Howard’s face. He was flushed and glowing with the pleasure that Howard had given him. “You know, I’ve always thought you were beautiful. But you’ve never looked better than with my cock up you.”

“You saucy little minx”, Howard said, looking rather in a daze from what had happened.

“So what happened to not being able to take pleasure with men?”, teased Vince, nuzzling Howard.

“I … I'll have to rethink a few basic basic principles”, Howard admitted. “You said … you love me”. He seemed in awe.

“I love you madly”, Vince assured him, “but let's get you cleaned up and into a warm bed”.

**A shrubbery at Helmsley Walled Garden, North Yorkshire, first designed in the 18th century**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this country: Howard doesn't mean England, but his own bit of country around Harthill. 
> 
> Fortnum & Mason: a high-class grocery store, founded in 1707, and now a department store. Howard would have known it very well – it was next door to Hatchards bookshop on Piccadilly (and its HQ still is). 
> 
> Toy theatres were one of the most popular toys of this era. Cut out from paper, they were nonetheless very elaborate, with the actors also to be cut out, like paper dolls. Interestingly, they were considered to be more for boys, but Howard has no trouble sending it to a household of girls as a present. 
> 
> The Kaleidoscope was the most wonderful gift of all because it had only been invented the year before. It was an immediate sensation, with 200 000 sold in Paris and London in the first three months of manufacture.
> 
> as lief: would rather.
> 
> Howard gives Vince (and the reader) a potted history of shrubberies. They came into fashion in the mid 18th century, overtaking the “wilderness gardens” that had been their forerunners. They were designed to provide a walking path around the perimeter of a house and garden, lined with trees and shrubs tall enough to provide complete privacy from the house, and from the area outside the garden. People did take advantage of this privacy, and there are several stories about unmarried women suddenly discovering they were pregnant after going for a stroll in the shrubbery. Because of this, a man who took a lady into the shrubbery without a chaperon was expected to marry her afterwards. NB: Mr Darcy only takes Elizabeth into a garden alone so he can propose to her.
> 
> Bedlam: the infamous insane asylum, Bethlehem Hospital. In this era, it had recently been moved to Southwark. 
> 
> moggy cake: a traditional Yorkshire cake, soft and sweet, made with golden syrup, and often served in buttered slices, like bread. Modern recipes often turn it into a light ginger cake, but originally it may have included potato as one of the main ingredients and been a lot stodgier .
> 
> Guitars were becoming quite popular instruments in the Regency period, almost entirely due to the Romantics. For reasons which escape me, women tended to play the English guitar, and men the Spanish guitar – although the guitar wasn't considered a very masculine instrument at the time. I think the guitar was a gift from Tommy, who would have gone to the Spanish Peninsula during the Napoleonic Wars. 
> 
> Vince's song is a slight reworking of the start of “Married on the Morrow”.
> 
> idiotish: the original form of idiotic. 
> 
> bed warmed: with a bed-warmer, a metal container with a long handle that you filled with embers and moved continually through the sheets to warm them up. 
> 
> breakfast: Howard obviously keeps a kettle, teapot, crockery, cutlery, bread, milk, sugar, and butter in his private parlour, so he can make his own breakfast over the fire.
> 
> linseed oil: British name for flaxseed oil. People still use it as a personal lubricant, but it doesn't mix with latex condoms or toys, and isn't suitable for vaginas, as it can mess up the pH.


	16. After the Apple Barn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Augusta makes an unexpected visit, with devastating consequences.

Lady Augusta got home from London on the second day of October. Although the journey was long, and would have been exhausting even for a woman half her age, the energetic Lady Augusta was still able to call on her godson Howard the following afternoon.

"Is Lord Moon home, Barley?", she asked at the front door.

"He's ... not in the house", said Barley.

"Oh? Where is he, then?".

"Lord Moon often spends his afternoons in the orchard, Lady Augusta", Barley said. "If you would like to sit in the parlour, I will have Mrs Featherstone bring you a cup of tea, and I'm sure Lord Moon will be back soon".

"Fiddlesticks", said Lady Augusta. "If he's in the orchard, I will look for him in the orchard".

She trudged around to the back of the house, and through the kitchen gardens, wondering what nonsense Howard was up to now. What on earth was he _doing_ in the orchard? Indeed, what _was_ there to do in an orchard?

At first she thought Barley had been wrong, for there was nobody among the trees that she could see. But then she heard voices coming from the stone apple barn, where fruit was stored after picking, where cider was made and bottled, and where hens roosted when they felt like it. There are few places that smell as sweet and wholesome as an apple barn filled with straw.

As she got closer, although she could not make out any words, Lady Augusta thought the voices sounded very intimate. There was a low, insinuating murmur, and a throaty giggle that sounded more feminine. Lady Augusta began to fear that Howard was doing something very ill-advised with one of the maids, although, as there were sounds of pleasure mingled, at least the girl seemed willing enough.

A different sort of godmother might have tiptoed away at this point and pretended she couldn't find Howard. Lady Augusta was made of sterner stuff, and truly believed it was her duty to interfere when Howard did the wrong thing, which was often, in her view. She boldly came closer and closer, until she could hear what they were saying.

“Put it back!”, came the feminine voice in a giggly tone.

“No, it's not safe. Come straight to my arms”, said Howard, in a voice she had never heard before. Caressing, flirtatious, commanding.

“Oh, you big brute! You have used me infamously, sir!”, said the feminine voice, with gasping laughter behind it.

Lady Augusta opened the barn door, just as a slender figure leapt from the upper level of the barn, to be caught by Howard, waiting below. His large hands cupped the person's buttocks with quite obvious enthusiasm.

“May I ask exactly _what_ is going on here?”, demanded Lady Augusta.

A beautiful face turned to look at her with big blue eyes, straw through their long dark hair. They were being cuddled by Howard, who suddenly set them down and stepped back with a shocked expression.

“Ah, Lady Augusta, you're back already”, Howard said awkwardly. “Have you met Baron Noir?”.

****************************************

Not long after, all three were sitting in the parlour with nothing but a teapot and three cups to break through the social embarrassment.

“I wonder if you might remember Baron Noir from the London season?”, Howard said.

Lady Augusta raked Vince from top to toe with her iron grey eyes, and said, “I knew your grandfather. A most unpleasant man”.

“Indeed, everyone seems to say so”, replied Vince, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Vince … er, I mean the baron has inherited Northwood Abbey, next door to Harthill”, went on Howard. “As our neighbour, I think it our duty to welcome him to the district”.

“Northwood Abbey is not your family seat”, Lady Augusta said haughtily to Vince. “The Barons Noir have a delightful estate in Hampshire”.

“Oh yes”, Vince said casually. “But I was so fascinated by inheriting a ruined abbey that I simply had to see it. And since I've been here, I've come to love it. I plan to restore it”.

“It will take more money than you possess”, said Lady Augusta. “There is a great deal of work to be done. I would advise you to sell it, and put the money towards the maintenance of your family seat”.

“I dunno about that. I think I rather like Yorkshire”, said Vince. “Thought I might sell Hampshire, and use the money to restore the abbey to all its Gothic glory”.

“So what exactly was that scene I witnessed?”, Lady Augusta enquired.

“Oh … I was showing Lord Noir the apple barn”, said Howard with a blush. “And then we heard a crying noise up in the loft, and we climbed up to see what it was”.

“The kitchen cat had her kittens up there”, said Vince, looking quite excited. “Three tiny little adorable kits!”.

“They will have to be drowned”, said Lady Augusta severely.

Vince gaped at her in horror. “But … why? Their eyes are already open, and the mother is still feeding them. Cats often like to hide their kittens away until they are weaned. She hasn't abandoned them”.

“Lord Noir is very fond of animals”, Howard put in. “He has a remarkable connection with them”.

“We don't want cats overrunning the neighbourhood”, said Lady Augusta in a temper. “They kill poultry and birds, and are nothing but vermin if out of control”.

“It's just three kittens”, said Howard persuasively. “I'm sure they will all grow up to be great mousers, and they're such sweet, cunning little things. You might like one yourself, Lady Augusta”.

Lady Augusta sniffed. “And what was the nonsense you were playing at when I arrived?”.

“Well, I climbed down the ladder first, but the final rung broke under my foot”, said Howard.

“Yes, and then Howard took the ladder away so I couldn't get down”, said Vince.

“It was dangerous, Vince”, lectured Howard. “No one likes fun more than I, but it must be _safe_ fun”.

“You simply took that ladder away as a tease”, insisted Vince, his eyes sparkling.

“But you jumped down into my arms, I caught you!”, said Howard with a laugh. “I was the knight errant rescuing a damsel in distress”.

Lady Augusta looked at Howard in dismay. His very appearance had been completely transformed. Her godson was tall and gawky with huge hands and feet, a bookish young man with screwed-up little eyes whose hair was always in a tangled mess, and who insisted the line of fuzz on his upper lip was a moustache.

Now he looked … almost handsome. He was standing more confidently, his face was alight so that you noticed the warmth and humour in his brown eyes, the sweetness of his smile, the clever tilt of his features. He looked … happy, Lady Augusta realised. Flushed with happiness, reckless with happiness. And it was too clear from the way he was gazing at Lord Noir that he had fallen head over heels in love.

Lady Augusta suddenly passed a hand over her face as if she was fatigued. “I must return home, Howard”, she said. “I am still rather tired from my journey back from London. Lord Noir, perhaps you would be so kind as to escort me? I begin to feel my age, and you would not make an old woman walk home alone, would you?”.

****************************************

Howard was worried. Vince had never returned after taking Lady Augusta home on the Saturday, and now it was late on Sunday afternoon and he had neither come over, nor sent a message to Harthill. Unable to stop fretting, he at last went to the stables, and saddled and bridled Miranda. He wanted to gallop her all the way, urging her on so he could reach his lover, but he knew better. Romantic as that sounded, he had no wish to get another sprained ankle, so rode at a steady, sensible pace.

When he reached the hill from where he could see Northwood Abbey, his heart sank, because it looked dark and empty. He wondered if Vince had already left, and if he had, vowed to go searching for him no matter what it took. However, when he clattered into the stone courtyard, the groom Leith was there to take Miranda, and when he knocked on the heavy black front door, Naboo answered. The small shaman stared blankly at Howard, as if this was his first visit.

“Naboo, is Vince here? I need to see him”, Howard said urgently.

There was a long, appraising stare, and then Naboo replied, “Lord Noir has business at the moment. I can let him know that you're here, if you would like to take a seat”.

Naboo led Howard into the saloon, and left him there. Howard stood by the window, feeling lost. The saloon seemed unfriendly to him, with no fire burning in the grate, and the furniture arranged with a prim rectitude that argued against comfort. They had never sat in it before, always in the library, and Howard felt what he never had before at the abbey – unwelcome, and in the way. It was cheerless and dark, but that was because heavy clouds were gathering, and it was starting to mizzle.

It was several minutes before anyone came in, and when they did it was a young woman in a deep red dress trimmed with white satin, wrapped in a Paisley shawl. Her dark hair was fashionably curled, and her figure slim, elegant, and quite tall. Howard admired her beauty, and waited for her to acknowledge him, but she appeared oblivious, merely taking care of minor domestic tasks.

It was only when she turned her face towards him that he gave a sharp breath in, and said, “Vince? Why are you wearing a dress?”.

“I do sometimes”, said Vince in a subdued tone. “I suppose I was in a girl mood. You never knew this about me, did you?”.

“No, but you look lovely”, Howard said in frank admiration. The thought that this elegant young woman had only a few nights ago ridden him hard with a well-oiled cock was an intensely exciting one, and Howard began picturing Vince doing that again while in a pretty dress.

“There's probably lots we don't know about each other”, said Vince, eyes downcast so Howard could only see his enchantingly long eyelashes. “For example, I didn't know that you were wooing a widow from Manchester”.

“What? Vince, is that what Lady Augusta told you? I promise you, I wasn't wooing her – she was staying with Lady Augusta, and made a few visits to me, simply because she was in the neighbourhood”.

“Can you honestly say you never thought about marrying her?”, Vince asked plaintively, and turned white when Howard could not answer straight away.

It was several moments before Howard said carefully, “Perhaps I did, in the way you dream of a castle in the sky, for I was very confused and lonely, and eager for any kindness and friendship”.

“Lady Augusta explained to me that you must get married, if not to this widow, then to someone else, for you need an heir”, Vince said in a low voice. “She said you were an honourable man, and not the type to keep a mistress, or deceive your wife and children”.

“Vince, please don't listen to her”, begged Howard. “I was never really interested in finding a wife, and now I've found you, the idea is quite absurd”.

“Howard, don't you think you'd be better off without me?”, Vince said sadly. “I know you – you love things to be safe and conventional. You like to have a good name in society, to be well-regarded and left alone. You desire nothing more than a quiet, comfortable life, and to disappear in a crowd. With me, you would lose everything important to you”.

“But … but we've been so happy together”, said Howard desperately, his voice cracking.

“I know. This has been an idyll, a dream”, said Vince wistfully. “A golden autumn where it was just us two for an entire month. But can't you see, Howard? It's like that poem by Keats where the Moon fell in love with a shepherd boy. Their love could only work in the land of dreams, while the boy slept. Don't you feel that's what we've been in? A beautiful, romantic dream?”.

“No. It felt completely real”, said Howard sharply. “ _This_ feels like a dream – a nightmare where familiar people wear the faces of strangers. You said you loved me madly only a few nights ago”.

“I do love you to madness, Howard”, said Vince, sounding as if he might cry. “Naboo and Bollo said that when you truly love someone, you will make any sacrifice for their happiness. In the long run, I know you will be happier without me”.

“Vince, please”, said Howard urgently. “You're making a terrible mistake. Please, kiss me, and then tell me you don't want to see me again”.

“It's got nothing to do with what I want”, said Vince, and the tears were rolling down his pale cheeks now. “If you stay with me, you'll lose everything – absolutely everything. I love you too much to ruin you, Howard”.

“Then kiss me anyway”, said Howard, tears in his own eyes. “If we've nothing to lose, come to my arms, and kiss me one last time”. He held out his arms for Vince.

“Sir, as a gentleman, you may not ask a lady to embrace and kiss you”, said Vince stiffly. “I am unchaperoned, and trusting in your gentlemanly instincts to leave me unmolested”.

“Vince, what has got into you?”, cried Howard in frustration. He had never seen Vince in this stubborn mood before, and couldn't understand it.

“Nothing”, replied Vince flatly. “This is the real me, Howard. If you do not care for it, perhaps it is best that we part while we still have happy memories to sustain us, rather than waiting for our feelings to become weary and stale”.

“You say things as if you want to hurt me”, Howard said reproachfully, “and yet I don't feel that you want to hurt me at all. I believe you are just as unhappy as me”.

“I _don't_ want to hurt you, I want to spare you a far worse pain that will come later”, said Vince seriously. “Please, Howard. If you trust me at all, if you love me at all … please go!”.

He could not have said it more plainly: _Please, go before either my resolve or my heart breaks._

Howard did something very ungentlemanly and very shocking. He put his arms around Vince, and tipped his beautiful face upwards between his hands, and he kissed Vince. At first gently, then wildly and savagely, but Vince would not respond. At last he humbly kissed the tips of Vince's fingers, and turned away, leaving without saying goodbye.

***************************************

Their autumn idyll had begun in sunshine, and now it ended in storms. It was just beginning to rain properly when Howard mounted Miranda, and he got back from the abbey with his coat dripping wet and his hat spoiled. He ran upstairs, and found Brooks cleaning his boots.

“Start packing”, he ordered him brusquely. “We're leaving first thing in the morning”.

“Just you and me?”, asked Brooks dubiously. “Won't we at least need Tully to drive the carriage?”.

“Not taking the carriage. We'll go by mail coach”, said Howard, taking off his wet things.

“Where are we going?”, asked Brooks calmly, but looking Howard over with a concerned eye.

“I don't know”, Howard replied, “but I've always wanted to see the world. I'm a man of action, Brooks, and must go out to seek adventure”.

**_The Norwich & London Royal Mail Coach_ by James Pollard (1824)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The apple barn might be slightly imaginary. Ms Heyer has a barn in her story, and as she places it in an orchard, I could only assume it was an apple barn or cider barn. There's no lack of buildings called apple barns in Yorkshire today, but as they've all been turned into cottages or wedding venues, that may just be marketing speak. A book from Derbyshire calls it an apple chamber, one from Devon a cider press. Between us, Ms Heyer and I may have come up with something which sounds lovely, but might not have actually existed in early 19th century south Yorkshire.
> 
> I gave Baron Noir of Camden an estate in Hampshire because the Marquess of Camden's family seat is Wherwell House in Hampshire, a picture-book pretty estate with its own village. Oddly enough, until relatively recently, they also owned Bayham Old Abbey, a ruined abbey in Kent. Apparently, owning a random ruined abbey wasn't that unusual. (They built a new house in the 19th century overlooking the ruins). 
> 
> cunning: cute, as if cunningly fashioned. 
> 
> saloon: the outer reception room of a stately home. 
> 
> mizzle: British dialect for a light drizzle, used in several regions, including the north.
> 
> mail coach: a stagecoach which delivered the mail. It took passengers, and was the fastest way to travel in the Regency era. It wasn't comfortable or roomy, but you could get from London to York in less than 24 hours.


	17. Babylon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in London, Howard receives a tempting offer to travel the world, and makes a shocking discovery.

Three days later, Howard awoke to the sounds of a busy city. Before opening his eyes, he thought about how he got here, for it was surprising even to himself. There had been a rush starting their journey, which began with Tully driving them to The Reindeer in Doncaster, so they could meet the mail coach when it went through at midday.

Brooks was in no mood to communicate, leaving Howard at leisure to indulge reflection. His thoughts were not happy, but unfortunately they were absorbing, so that he took but little interest in the countryside through which he travelled, and only faint interest in the towns they drove through. Brooks could see that Howard was only using the journey to dwell on his misery, and insisted they stop for the night at The George in Colsterworth, if only so Howard would have new surroundings to mope in.

Because of this, they had a very long journey the next day, arriving at Charing Cross at six o'clock the following evening. Howard was very tired, having barely slept the previous night, and with no idea what to do next. They could hardly set out to see the world that very minute, and no doubt would have to wait for morning to head for Dover. The idea of spending the night in a hotel with only Brooks for company was not a pleasant one, but he did suggest it to Brooks with no enthusiasm.

Seeing how low in spirits Howard had become, Brooks said, "Is there nobody you could stay with for the night? A friend or relative?”.

Howard thought for a few moments, but in the end, the only person who had positively welcomed him was Lady Howard. He hadn't seen the Howards since he was a teenager, but still had the letter from Lady Howard claiming that they would be happy to have him stay at Cavendish Square whenever he liked. This was good enough for Brooks, who immediately engaged a hackney to take Howard, his luggage, and his valet to the square.

Lady Howard was extremely kind, for she had taken one look at the young man who had arrived on her doorstep unannounced and deduced that he was in a bad way. She took him in, telling him to please call she and her husband Aunt Caroline and Uncle George, and they would call him Howard. He had an elegant dinner with the Howards that he ate mechanically, barely tasting a bite of it, and then Aunt Caroline put him and Brooks up in her second best guest room, which overlooked the square, not the street.

It was here that he greeted the morning with heavy eyes, and was told at breakfast that Uncle George would be away on business for a few days, but had left a message that Howard was to make himself at home and consider himself one of the family.

“Which you actually are”, said Aunt Caroline, “in a _spiritual_ sense”.

Aunt Caroline said the idea of taking off to see the world in October was utter nonsense – spring was the time of year one left for the Continent. She was quite sure that it would be difficult to cross the Channel safely, Italy and Greece would be cold and unhealthy at this time of year, and getting to the Levant an arduous process not to be attempted for at least a twelvemonth.

“I think it would be _much_ more sensible if you stay with us in London for a while until you're feeling a bit stronger, then wait to go abroad next spring”, Aunt Caroline advised. “Then you can spend the winter _planning_ your tour, rather than heading off without any preparation”.

But for today, Aunt Caroline was adamant that Howard simply rest and recover. He was looking most unwell, and had probably been working far too hard. (It was one of Caroline's peculiar beliefs that all men worked extremely hard all the time). Howard was welcome to any of their books in the library, and might perhaps like a walk in the square after lunch. And the younger children – Jane, Alice, and Sarah – would simply love to meet their god-cousin, if Howard would like to visit the nursery after lesson time.

****************************************

And so Howard gradually settled into life at Cavendish Square. He went for a walk in the Park or shopping in Bond Street each morning, while the afternoons were devoted to sightseeing. He was surprised to think how few of London's famous monuments he had visited, and so entertained himself with seeing such sights as St Paul's Cathedral, The Pall Mall Picture Galleries, The British Museum, and The Tower of London, including the miserable menagerie run by Bainbridge and Fossil.

In the evenings he occasionally went out with Uncle George and Aunt Caroline, but mostly they had dinner at home, either _en famille_ , or with a few guests. If there were was no company, the oldest daughters, Louisa and Margaret, came and sat in the drawing room after dinner. At fifteen and sixteen, they were being prepared for their coming out, and would reply to anything Howard said like nervous students taking an examination, then look at their mother for her approval of their response.

He much preferred playing in the nursery with Jane, Alice, and Sarah. He was helping them to patiently set up their toy theatre, suggesting to them plays they may like to perform there when they were ready, such as _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. He read to them from the poetry of Jane Taylor, the stories of Maria Edgeworth, Lamb's _Tales from Shakespeare_ , _The Swiss Family Robinson_ , and Mrs Hack's delightful geography book, and helped them write their own poems and stories.

Although from the outside, his life seemed to be one of comfort and interest, he felt dull and depressed. He constantly wished he could have shared his experiences with Vince, and thought of dozens of jokes that he had nobody to tell to. At night he ached for Vince's touch, and would have often wept into his pillow, except he had to share a room with Brooks, who would have become vexed and sarcastic with him should he have succumbed to tears.

Aunt Caroline noticed with concern that Howard continued to look sad and withdrawn, and realised that all the books he had borrowed from them were travel journals and guides. His visits to the British Museum to see the classical statuary had made him eager to see Athens and Rome, and after viewing the Egyptian room, had begun considering a trip the see the Nile and pyramids.

He was currently reading a lively account of a voyage through the Ottoman Empire, involving a desperate trek with pack-horses through the Carpathians in winter, in fear of wolves and bears, and sometimes having to drive off Hungarian bandits with pistols.

“Brooks, if we encountered bandits while crossing the Carpathians on horseback, would you be able to drive them off with a pistol, do you think?”, Howard asked his valet thoughtfully.

“I would do my best, my lord”, said Brooks, “but I do not have a high degree of confidence in my marksmanship”.

“You'd do better with a sabre, perhaps?”, Howard suggested.

Brooks didn't seem keen to ward off bandits with a sabre either, and Howard wondered if his valet was really the right travelling companion for a man of action embarked on adventure.

***********************************

Howard had got in rather late from the British Museum, having walked all the way home rather than get a hackney. He was dismayed when Brooks advised him that there was company for dinner, and he must get dressed immediately.

Coming out in his best breeches and new winter coat, cravat freshly tied, boots polished, and curls slicked back with pomade, he almost bumped into Aunt Caroline.

“Oh Howard, I was just looking for you”, she said excitedly. “I know you've been a bit down lately, but I've got the the most wonderful surprise for you. You'll never guess who's here for dinner!”.

Howard knew it couldn't possibly be Vince, but nevertheless his heart stupidly beat fast in his chest, and his throat felt tight and constricted. He could feel his palms getting damp with nerves as Aunt Caroline led him towards the drawing room, opening the door with a flourish.

“Look, Howard!”, Aunt Caroline said with a triumphant air. “Look who's here to see you!”.

Howard walked forward into the room, his heart hammering, then he stopped dead before the Chesterfield sofa.

“Good evening, Mrs Gideon”, he said, trying to keep the bitter disappointment out of his voice. “How lovely to see you again”.

“I'm so sorry”, said Mrs Gideon. “Have we met before?”.

“Why, yes you have, Marianne”, said Aunt Caroline, in surprise. “You stayed with George's sister Augusta in Yorkshire last summer, and she says you and her godson Howard became firm friends”.

“I do remember staying with Augusta”, frowned Mrs Gideon. “My sister Frances asked her if I might visit”.

“I live nearby at Harthill”, Howard put in. “You came over almost every day”.

“Its the oddest thing, but I simply don't remember you”, Mrs Gideon said, shaking her head.

“Augusta says that the pair of you got along extremely well – discussing literature and music”, Aunt Caroline said with a touch of impatience.

“And she was there the whole time?”, enquired Mrs Gideon, her head on one side.

“Well, no. Lady Augusta usually had some small business at Harthill which took her attention, and she left us alone together a lot”, said Howard, with a blush at how that must sound.

“Augusta left me unchaperoned?”, said Mrs Gideon with a disbelieving smile. “That doesn't sound like her”.

“We went for a walk one morning, and you told me it was your late husband's fiftieth birthday, had he been alive”, Howard said rather desperately. “Then we discussed some of the local folklore, such as the trysting tree”.

“I do remember writing that down in my commonplace book”, said Mrs Gideon thoughtfully, “but I thought it was some farm worker who told me about it, or perhaps the local curate. I'm so sorry I can't seem to remember you, but everything in my life has changed so much recently that some memories seem to have been completely erased”.

“Really? What has changed?”, asked Howard stiffly, wishing that either he or Mrs Gideon would disappear.

“Oh, it's all thanks to this wonderful gentleman”, said Mrs Gideon, her face lighting up. “May I introduce to you, Professor Lester Corncrake, of the Philadelphia Museum?”.

“Greetings, good people”, said a genial grey-haired man whose milky eyes suggested limited vision. He stood up from the armchair he had been in, and Howard rushed to take his arm.

“Good evening, Professor”, Howard said. “I am Lord Moon. May I lead you over to the ladies?”.

“I'd be much obliged”, said Professor Corncrake with a slightly wicked smile.

Just then a footman announced that dinner was served in the dining room, and quietly told Aunt Caroline that her husband was already seated, waiting for them. Uncle George was a stickler for mealtimes, and disliked stragglers. Aunt Caroline led Professor Corncrake in, holding his arm in hers, while Howard was left to take Mrs Gideon in to dinner.

It was during the turtle soup that Mrs Gideon began telling them about the great change in her life.

“I heard Professor Corncrake give a lecture on ancient Mesopotamia at the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society”, she began. “He was … brilliant. A brilliant man, if not an actual genius”.

“Why little lady, you are too kind”, said Professor Corncrake modestly.

“Professor Corncrake is the foremost expert on Babylon in the former American colonies”, Mrs Gideon explained, “and when I went to thank him during the supper after the lecture, he actually invited me to join him on his next dig!”.

“Pardon me, a … _dig_ , did you say?”, asked a bemused Aunt Caroline.

“Why yes, Lady Howard”, Professor Corncrake said. “An _archaeological_ dig, where we dig to find artefacts”.

“And this dig is in Babylon?”, Uncle George asked in surprise.

“Yes indeedy, sir”, Professor Corncrake said earnestly. “The East India Company have had their shot, and now my little crew from the Philadelphia Museum will be moving in to examine the ancient city of Babylon”.

“Professor Corncrake has hired _me_ to be his assistant”, said Mrs Gideon excitedly. “Can you imagine?”.

“As soon as I met Mrs Gideon, I could tell she was a woman of rare intellect and understanding”, Professor Corncrake said warmly. “Not only organised and practical by habit, but empathetic by nature”.

“But Marianne, you can't possibly go to Babylon, all alone with nothing but men around you”, said a scandalised Aunt Caroline.

“Lady Hester Stanhope travelled through much of the Near East and ran her own archaeological dig in the Holy Land”, Howard pointed out.

Uncle George said something particularly scathing about Lady Hester Stanhope.

“I'll have a maid with me, and I expect could hire a female companion”, said Mrs Gideon carelessly.

“I envy you the adventure”, said Howard frankly. “I have for some time now been wishing I could travel abroad, to see the classical world, the Levant, and Egypt”.

“Why not join us, Lord Moon?”, Professor Corncrake suggested. “You're a gentleman of means, and an educated man”.

“I know Latin and Greek”, said Howard, “and I think I could learn Arabic”.

“This is an absolutely mad idea, Howard”, Uncle George said sternly. “You have an estate to run, and your grandfather could die at any time. Imagine if you were needed for the earldom, and you couldn't be found, running around Mesopotamia!”.

“Think about it”, Professor Corncrake said. “We'll be travelling through Greece, Turkey, and Syria before making a quick trip to Cairo, then into Mesopotamia”.

“It's a tempting offer”, said Howard uncertainly.

“You would be making the most terrible mistake, Howard”, said Aunt Caroline. “You too, Marianne – how on earth will you find a husband in Mesopotamia?”.

“I think travelling the world and working as secretary to a brilliant man, studying languages, history, politics, and geography, sounds far more exciting than marrying somebody just to take care of his household for years and years”, said Mrs Gideon. “I've been searching for something to occupy myself with, and at last I've found it”.

“We leave England on the last day of November”, Professor Corncrake said to Howard. “If you choose to join us, be on the docks at Dover, ready to depart, at ten o'clock in the morning”.

****************************************

After his meeting with Professor Corncrake, Howard began seriously considering going to Babylon. Their itinerary took him through most of the countries he wanted to visit, and beyond. He wouldn't be travelling alone, and wouldn't become bored or idle with an important project to work on. They might make important discoveries; at the very least he would have something positive to take his mind off Vince and his broken heart.

Aunt Caroline and Uncle George were not in agreement with any of this. They continued to say it was a mad, reckless, and foolish idea that would take his attention and much of his fortune away from his estate, perhaps for years. Howard tried to pretend he had given the idea up, but not only spent more time at the British Museum than ever, but also called in to see Professor Corncrake at his room in Mivart's Hotel, Brook Street.

“Lord Moon, I think you would make an excellent archaeologist”, said the Professor seriously. “I have noted that you are organised and tidy by nature, and like to understand things deeply”.

“Thank you, Professor”, said Howard. “What do you rate your chances of making a significant discovery?”.

“I am very hopeful indeed”, said Professor Corncrake. “You see, we will be using the stratification method so precious to our brothers, the palaeontologists. Rather than grabbing the first big or valuable thing we can find, like simple fortune-hunters, we will actually be examining the site systematically, era by era”.

“If you do not mind me mentioning it, your eyesight is …. failing, Professor. How can you examine your finds if you cannot see well?”.

“When Mr Sight leaves, he opens the way for his friends Mrs Feel and Mr Taste”, said Professor Corncrake playfully. “I can still see using my fingers and my tongue. Besides, I will have a crew of people doing the actual digging, and you and Mrs Gideon cataloguing everything”.

“I would be working with Mrs Gideon?”.

“Yes, very closely. I think you will make a good team, and I'm sure you will soon be the best of friends”, said Professor Corncrake optimistically.

Howard had almost settled on going to Babylon, and that night was able to go to sleep with the feeling that his future had been fixed in place. But he had only been asleep a short while when he dreamed he heard Vince calling him. “Howard! Howard!”.

Howard sat straight up in bed, for Vince's voice had been so lonely and despairing that it pierced his very heart. He had a sudden vision of Vince crying alone in his bed, and although he knew it was only the aftereffect of the dream, the dream had been very real.

After this, he could not think of going to Babylon, because what if Vince needed him? Wouldn't it be acting like a complete jingle-brains to leave England without trying to see Vince again, at least? Should he go home to Yorkshire at once to look for Vince?

That seemed going too far, but the next day he avoided the British Museum, instead going shopping for new clothes, then taking himself to a concert in Hanover Square. Here he listened to a Beethoven piano sonata, and far from finding it a gloomy racket, discovered that the music spoke to him as urgently did his dream. The piece seemed to both describe and soothe his broken heart, so that afterwards, although he had wept a little during the concert, found that he was going home with a lighter heart.

****************************************

A month after Howard had arrived at Cavendish Square, Uncle George and Aunt Caroline took him to the theatre as a treat. Howard surmised, perhaps correctly, that the outing was a hint that his visit had gone on long enough, and it was time for him to either go home, or seek other lodging.

Howard was taken to see _The Bride of Abydos_ , based on Lord Byron's poem, at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. He had enjoyed the story of forbidden love, but the Turkish setting had left him wondering yet again if he should travel to the East – if not as an archaeologist, then perhaps in some other capacity.

After the play, there was a light comedy put on to send everyone home in a good mood. Quite a few theatre-goers had only turned up for the comedy, arriving what Howard thought of as shockingly late. He looked idly around the house, his attention immediately attracted to the box on the opposite side of the theatre to the Howards'. It had been empty until the second play, but was now occupied by a lady and gentleman in middle life of quite obvious wealth.

The man was handsome and greying with pale blue eyes, and magnificently dressed; he raised his quizzing-glass, apparently to examine Howard. The lady had a neat, plump little figure like a partridge, beautiful curls of a brassy golden hue, and a clever, humorous expression. She wore a low-cut silk dress with a white ermine cloak thrown over her chair, and diamonds fell from her ears while lining her throat and wrists. She smiled at Howard quite openly, and then raised her hand to him, as if in salute.

Aunt Caroline had been gently nodding off in her chair when she was surprised by Howard saying, “Aunt, who is the lady in that box over there? She seems to know me”.

“Sorry, which lady are you speaking of, Howard dear?”, Aunt Caroline asked sleepily.

“The one in the box opposite us. She has been watching me for these past ten minutes, and I swear she smiled and raised her hand to me, as if we were acquaintances”.

Aunt Caroline looked over to where Howard indicated, and immediately exclaimed in shock, “Good God!”.

“Who is it?”, asked Howard impatiently.

“It is … it is Lady Ferndown, and her husband, Sir Oswald Ferndown”, Aunt Caroline replied nervously. “Pray, ask me no more about them. I … I feel a little faint, and perhaps we should go home now”.

Howard whispered to Uncle George that Aunt Caroline was not feeling well, and then thought to add, “I suppose you can tell me nothing about Lady Ferndown, who sits opposite us?”.

Uncle George glanced over, and involuntarily cursed. He turned to Howard and gave him a bleak look that was not completely devoid of sympathy.

“She is your mother, Howard. I advise you to pretend you never saw her, and to put her out of your mind as best you can”.

**The newly refurbished Theatre-Royal in Drury Lane, Covent Garden by**

**Thomas Rowlandson, _Ackermann's Microcosm of London_ (1810) **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Reindeer and the George were coaching inns on the mail route from London to York. The Reindeer is still in Doncaster, but The George, in the village of Colesterworth, is now a private residence. 
> 
> Cavendish Square is one of London's residential squares with a garden in the centre. It was very posh in the Georgian era (one of the Princesses Royal lived there; so did Lord Nelson and Lady Mary Wortley Montagu). I pictured the Howard family living at No. 18, which is now a set of offices.
> 
> The Levant was basically what we would call the Middle East, but more broadly, all the Eastern Mediterranean countries and their islands, extending from Greece to Libya. At the very least, it would include modern-day Syria, Lebanon Jordan, Israel, Palestine, and quite a lot of Turkey.
> 
> Howard visits major London tourist attractions such as St Paul's Cathedral on London's highest point; The Pall Mall Picture Galleries (properly, the British Institution), a private art gallery for the nobility of conservative tastes, demolished in 1869; the British Museum in Bloomsbury, established 1753, the first national museum in the world, whose collections began to swell during the early 19th century; the Tower of London, founded 1066, a historic castle on Tower Hill which was a very popular tourist attraction in the 19th century, as today. 
> 
> Howard reads the younger Howard children popular children's books of the early 19th century. Jane Taylor contributed to several poetry books for children, and is now best known for “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”. Maria Edgeworth, the most successful living English novelist from 1800-1814, wrote several collections of stories for young readers. Charles and Mary Lamb's “Tales from Shakespeare” (1807), are retellings of Shakespeare's plays for children. “The Swiss Family Robinson” by Johann David Wyss (1812 – English translation 1816), an adventure story with a family trapped on a deserted island. “Winter Evenings” by Maria Hack (1818) teaches geography through a collection of traveller's tales told to two children. 
> 
> The Ottoman Empire, lasting from the 14th to the 20th centuries which at its height controlled Southeastern Europe, Central Europe, Eastern Europe, Western Asia, the Caucasus, and North Africa. Turkic in origin, it was Persian in language and culture. The book Howard reads is made up, but typical of 18th century travel books. The intrepid traveller is at this point in the Carpathian Mountains in Hungary, Eastern Europe, under Ottoman control. 
> 
> Professor Corncrake must be from the Philadelphia Museum, a natural history museum opened in 1786 by an energetic polymath named Charles Wilson Peale. You can still see a few remnants of the collection at Independence Hall. In the story, the museum is clearly much richer and more influential (the government of the day kept saying how good it was while refusing to fund it), and has branched out into archaeology.
> 
> The Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society is real, and still meet regularly to discuss important issues.
> 
> The ancient city of Babylon in ancient Mesopotamia. Its ruins are in present-day Hillah, south of Baghdad in Iraq. A flow of travellers in the late 18th century led the East India company to begin excavating the site in 1811-12, and then again in 1817. 
> 
> Lady Hester Stanhope (1776-1839), an eccentric beauty and wit who began her career as secretary to the Prime Minister, but soon began known as an explorer, traveller, and Orientalist. She organised her own archaeological dig in 1815, one of the first to use stratification in order to systematically study a site. Mrs Gideon is following in her footsteps, and it's a reminder that women didn't all spend their time at balls and parties during the Regency.
> 
> Mivart's Hotel, on the corner of Brook and Davies Streets, later became Claridge's Hotel, which it remains to this day. Even in its earlier incarnation, it was patronised by royalty, being a favourite of the Prince Regent. 
> 
> The Hanover Square Rooms or the Queen's Concert Rooms were assembly rooms for musical performances in Hanover Square, built in 1774. For a century, this was the principal concert venue in London, attracting performers such as Mozart, Berlioz, Haydn, Liszt, and Jenny Lind. They were demolished in 1900. Howard listens to the “Moonlight Sonata” by Vince's favourite composer, Beethoven, and this time finds it in tune with his own Romantic feelings.
> 
> “The Bride of Abydos” by William Dimond, a play based on the 1813 poem by Lord Byron. In reality, the play was staged in February of 1818 at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. It was the fashion in Regency theatre to have a comic play after the main drama, a lot like a pantomime, and some people only turned up for the comedy. The Howards and the Ferndowns both have their own boxes, which were very expensive.


	18. At the Pulteney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard learns more about his mother and stepfather, and a plan is hatched to allow him a meeting with Vince.

"But my mother is dead!", Howard protested. "Everyone told me so".

He was back in Cavendish Square with Aunt Caroline and Uncle George, demanding answers that they clearly didn't want to give. Uncle George kept insisting that Howard would be better off forgetting he'd ever seen his mother at the theatre, while Aunt Caroline became tearful and begged him to stop discussing such an upsetting subject.

"At first, we thought she might be", said Aunt Caroline with a gulp. "She disappeared so thoroughly and so suddenly, we feared she'd fallen into a disused well, or perhaps ... oh, that some animal had attacked her. We all searched for her, but found nothing. Your father was ... oh Howard, your father was in such a state at her disappearance".

"But then word came that she was living as .... as the mistress of Sir Oswald Ferndown", said Aunt Caroline. "None of us had the slightest clue that they were even friends, let alone lovers. I must say, Penelope was very discreet".

"Sly little wench", spat out Uncle George.

"Please remember you're talking about my mother!", Howard said angrily, to which Uncle George replied, "Hardly. She left you almost as soon as you were born. You owe her nothing, and I don't believe you need think about her a moment longer".

"If I could only understand", Howard pleaded. "Were my parents never in love, that my mother could leave us so soon?".

"Your father wanted your mother as soon as he saw her", Aunt Caroline said. "Your grandmother introduced him to at least twenty suitable girls, but Gerald wouldn't have this one, and he wouldn't have that one, until everyone had lost patience with him. But then he saw Penelope under the trysting tree, and nobody else would do for him".

"I thought my parents _met_ beneath the trysting tree?", Howard asked.

"Not quite", said Aunt Caroline. "Gerald saw Penelope under the tree, and straight away rode his horse over to become acquainted with her. She'd been staying with Augusta, you see. He became .... obsessed with her. I think it was really the beginning of him going a bit wrong in the head".

"To be fair to Penelope, Gerald was always a bit off the hooks", Uncle George said. "He began by being colder and more detached than other people, then became wildly incontinent over Penelope. Said if he couldn't have her, he'd blow his brains out, until we were all in a pet over him”.

“But did Mother want to marry him?”, Howard asked.

“She didn't get a lot of choice”, Caroline said. “She was only seventeen, and what with Gerald's family doing everything they could so he wouldn't kill himself, and Penelope's father, General Barrett, telling her she would marry the heir to an earldom or he'd cast her out of home dressed only in her shift, she had to get married. I mean, the Barretts were very respectable and wealthy, but they weren't _noble_ like the Moons and Howards”.

“Poor Mother”, said Howard, his heart aching at the thought of the young girl harried and hurried into marriage. Had she cried at her own wedding, or had she been already frozen into dry-eyed misery?

“I can't see why she was _poor_ ”, argued Uncle George. “Girls have to marry, and abide by their parents' choice. She was married to an earl's only son, had a comfortable estate, plenty of money, and was waited on hand and foot by a house full of servants. And very soon she had a baby. No doubt more children if she'd stayed”.

“Your father absolutely doted on her”, Aunt Caroline said. “He called her his little queen and his fairy bride – you know, she was so tiny, with that slender waist that everyone raved over. She didn't have to do anything on the estate, he told the housekeeper (Mrs Girton it was then), to manage the house and not bother his wife with details”.

“And the money he spent on her!”, Uncle George exclaimed in horror. “I don't know how many thousands went on her clothes. His wife must have the best of everything”.

“He dressed her up like a little doll, and she had nothing to do but go to balls and parties”, Aunt Caroline said.

“ _Father_ went to balls and parties?”, asked Howard in disbelief.

“Yes. Anything for Penelope, and of course, he enjoyed showing her off”, Uncle George said. “He wanted everyone to see that _his_ wife danced the most gracefully, _his_ wife was the most charming, the wittiest. And see how that ended! Someone else liked what they saw”.

“When he realised that Penelope wasn't missing or dead, but had run away to be another man's mistress rather than stay with him, he went absolutely mad with rage”, Aunt Caroline said in hushed tones. “He had everything she had ever owned that was left in the house burned in a great bonfire, all her silk dresses and valuable jewellery, even her hair brushes. And then he slashed her portrait to shreds – there was a beautiful one of her in the drawing room – and insisted that every picture of her be destroyed”.

“And after that he went back to being chilly, detached Gerald, except this time he never went anywhere and never spoke to anyone”, said Uncle George.

“It was if she was his one passion, and when she left, he was merely an empty, lifeless shell”, said Aunt Caroline.

“But … why did everyone tell me she was dead?”, Howard asked.

“As far as Gerald was concerned, she _was_ dead”, said Uncle George. “He would never allow anyone to speak her name and would go into a sort of cold fury if anyone did so. I think he might have killed any one of us if we had told you the truth”.

“I'm surprised I didn't find out anyway, from someone else”, Howard said. “It must have been such a scandal”.

“Oh yes! At the time it certainly was”, agreed Aunt Caroline. “But when Penelope and Oswald realised they had been cast out of society by their actions, they went to live abroad, and gradually people forgot about it, or at least they didn't think about it much”.

“Where did they go?”, Howard asked.

“Venice at first”, said Uncle George. “When the wars began I think they went to Lisbon, and since they ended, they've been in France these last few years”.

“I think I should have been told when Father died, at least”, said Howard, beginning to feel rather indignant.

“Augusta wouldn't hear of it”, said Aunt Caroline. “I did suggest it, Howard, I really did. But she said Penelope was a ruined woman who had brought disgrace to her family, and she didn't want you suffering any more from your mother's unnatural and wicked behaviour”.

“But Mother was able to marry when Father died”, Howard said. “She wasn't a mistress any more – surely she could be received in society then?”.

“Absolutely not”, said Uncle George decidedly. “Her very marriage was tainted from the start. And frankly, the way they've behaved since getting married is disgusting”.

Howard only looked confused, so Aunt Caroline said, “Oswald treats Penelope as if she was his mistress, not his wife. Covering her in furs and diamonds, and buying her a phaeton to drive around in the Park! And … well, behaving with her as if she was his mistress, still!”.

“How is that different from Father?”, Howard asked, with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Gerald was a young man doting on his wife in the first throes of love”, Caroline answered. “His behaviour could be excused, because it wouldn't have lasted another twelvemonth. Oswald and Penelope have been together for more than twenty five years, and have never shown the least remorse or made the slightest attempt to behave with modesty. They are quite shameless”.

“We must ask you not to see or communicate with your mother”, Uncle George said solemnly. “She has cast herself out of society, and if you associate with her, your reputation will be ruined as well”.

Howard opened his mouth to object, just as Aunt Caroline said, “Please, not while you're under our roof, Howard. It will reignite the old scandal, and bring shame upon us as well. Louisa and Margaret will be coming out in less than six months, and I don't want anything to tarnish their reputations”.

Howard closed his mouth, and nodded. Then he muttered his goodnights, and went to his room, immediately taking up his guidebook to London, and reading one section very closely.

****************************************

When morning came, Howard had made a list of all the hotels which catered to the gentry and nobility, and had decided to try The Pulteney first. For this luxurious hotel on Piccadilly was so fashionable that the Tsar of Russia himself, and his sister, had taken rooms there rather than stay at St James's Palace. Howard wouldn't admit it, but its closeness to Vince's townhouse also made it an appealing place to start looking.

After breakfast, Howard left word with the butler, Digby, that he had some urgent shopping to do, and walked to The Pulteney, which overlooked Green Park. He had the pleasure of knowing that his first guess had hit correctly, and that the Ferndowns were actually staying in the same suite which the tsar had occupied a few years earlier.

Howard sent up his card, and in a very short space of time was being ushered by a superior footman into an ornate saloon on the first floor. After about twenty minutes wait, a French maid came into the room, announcing that _miladi_ was now ready to see _monsieur_ , and she led Howard through a smaller saloon, and an anteroom, before coming to a large and opulent bed chamber redolent with a sweet but very subtle scent.

Lady Ferndown was attired in a chiffon and lace morning dress with a light robe thrown over it, and sat at a dressing table covered in fascinating little pots and bottles. Everything about the room breathed of a femininity that Howard was quite unused to, and he stood in the doorway as if afraid to come any further.

“Have they taught you to hate me?”, Howard's mother asked with the slightest tremble in her voice, which was as clear and sweet as when she was eighteen.

“No, they told me you were dead”, Howard said frankly.

Lady Ferndown muttered something distinctly unladylike in French, and said, “That was Gerald's idea, I'm sure. Anything rather than face the truth!”.

“How did you know it was me? At the theatre?”.

Lady Ferndown struck a dramatic pose with her hand on her breast, and said in a deep, thrilling voice, “Doesn't a mother _always_ know her only child? Wouldn't she recognise him no matter where they met, and no matter how many years had passed?”.

Then she laughed merrily, and said, “You were sitting with George and Caroline Howard, and you look exactly like your father at the same age. I knew it couldn't be anyone else”.

“I see”, said Howard with a small smile, taking a step forward.

“Come and sit by me”, his mother asked, patting a chair next to hers.

Howard gingerly sat down, and said, “I thank you, er … Mother”.

“Would you like to ask me anything else?”, Lady Ferndown asked, leaning towards Howard.

“Why did you leave me?”, Howard asked in a small voice. “Why didn't you take me with you?”.

Lady Ferndown looked stricken. “Oh, my poor little baby”, she said, taking Howard's hand. “It broke my heart leaving you, but I simply couldn't. I only got away unnoticed by taking absolutely nothing with me except the clothes I was wearing. And if we'd taken you, it would have been used as evidence you weren't your father's son. I couldn't do you out of the earldom and your fortune, Howard, darling. Not on top of all my other failures as a mother”.

Howard squeezed his mother's hand. “You didn't fail. I know Father must have been … difficult, even though he adored you”.

“He didn't adore me”, Penelope said emphatically. “He had a strange infatuation that made him almost hate me, and after you were born, he became absolutely unbearable. I was very unwell after your birth, and he couldn't stand it. He behaved as if I had tricked him into marriage, only to become a burden on him. I'm not sure you know how frightening he could be, Howard. Vicious, cold rages; cruel, cutting little speeches; and then days of being ignored, as if I didn't even exist”.

“Poor Mama”, said Howard, leaning to put his arm clumsily around her. “But you're happy now?”.

“Yes, darling”, his mother answered. “Society has made me pay a high price for my safety and happiness, but I'm terribly happy with Oz. Life gave me the perfect husband – just a year too late. And are you happy, Howard?”.

Howard meant to say he had nothing of which to complain, but suddenly bowed his shoulders, and began crying.

“What's wrong, Howard?”, asked his mother in concern. She pulled him over so that his head was in her lap, and stroked his brown curls.

“Oh Mama, I'm so miserable”, Howard wept. “I'm in love with someone, but they broke my heart”.

“Tell me who has broken your heart, and I'll horsewhip the hussy”, Howard's mother resolutely. “I'll come at her like a Cockney cabbie, like a hackney-driving Hessian”.

“It's not a woman, it's a man”, Howard said, giving his mother a sideways look to see how she would take this news.

“Even better. I couldn't in all conscience kill a defenceless woman, but I can kill a man”, said Lady Ferndown with relish. “It will be pistols at dawn for him, as I am said to be the greatest markswoman in France. Tell me his name, and I will gladly shoot him for you”.

“Baron Noir”, said Howard, smiling through his tears at his plump little mother's fierceness.

“You mean _Vince_ Noir?”, his mother said in amazement. “But darling, I can quite understand why you're in love with him. He's one of the sweetest and most charming young men I've ever met, as well as one of the most beautiful”.

“How do you know Vince?”, asked Howard, wiping his eyes and looking at his mother with interest.

“I met him last year”, said Lady Ferndown. “We live next door to his cousin Bryan in Paris, and when Vince came to stay with Bryan, we became friends with him. He had trouble getting used to city life after living in India, so we took he and Bryan to our country house in Saint-Cloud for a fortnight to help ease him into it”.

“I can't believe you're friends with Vince”, Howard said. “And all this time, he knew you, and I had no idea”.

“So how did Vince break your heart?”, asked Lady Ferndown. “And why on earth doesn't he love you?”.

“He _does_ love me”, said Howard tearfully. “We love each other an enormous amount. But he won't stay with me, saying that he will ruin my life, because he isn't accepted by society”.

“Oh, the poor, sweet, silly young fool”, said Lady Ferndown gently. “And you don't care about society?”.

“No, not if it keeps me away from Vince”, said Howard. “And if I cared about society, I wouldn't have come to see you”.

“What a mess”, said his mother, rubbing her forehead as if trying to smooth out all her worry lines.

“Mama, _please_ help me get Vince back”, Howard begged. “I've never asked you for anything before, and I won't ask you for anything again. I know you can help me”.

“All I can think of is writing to Vince and asking him to see us while we're in London”, said Penelope. “I can't promise he'll come, and I can't promise he'll change his mind, Howard”.

“Oh Mama, thank you”, said Howard, hugging his mother hard, and then remembering she was a lot shorter and softer than him, made his hugs slightly more subdued.

****************************************

Half an hour later, the letter was done, Penelope having written it as cunningly as she knew how.

_My dear Vince,_

_I do not know if you will remember me, but you lived next door to us when you stayed in Paris with your cousin Bryan. You and Bryan were kind enough to visit us at our chateau in St-Cloud to escape the fatigues of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, where I recall you enjoyed sitting in the pavilion in the garden, overlooking the Seine. You described the view as “genius”, and I believe it refreshed your spirits when you grew weary._

_My husband Oswald and myself would be so pleased if you would care to call upon us while we are in London. We will quite understand if you would prefer not to do so, for our marriage has set us outside the bounds of society, and to associate yourself with us may damage your reputation. It is perhaps different in France, where of course we would be delighted to receive you at any time, regardless of your choice._

_We will be at The Pulteney Hotel in Piccadilly until the last day of November if you are not otherwise engaged._

_Adieu, and I remain ever yours &c, Lady Penelope Ferndown_

Having been folded into a packet, a footman was called to take the letter to the General Post Office on Lombard Street.

There came a gentle tap at the door, and Oswald poked his face into the room.

“Oh, Oz! Come in”, called Penelope.

“Penny, darling”, said Oswald, kissing her cheek. “And this is your son – I'm so glad to meet you at last, Howard”.

“Good morning, Sir Oswald”, Howard said, giving his stepfather a manly handshake.

“Please, call me Oswald”, he said. “I haven't been any sort of father to you, but I'd like to do better, if you will permit me”.

“Thank you, sir”, said Howard. “I must find myself new lodgings, because Uncle George and Aunt Caroline were very clear I must not meet you while under their roof. It's time to find that new roof”.

“Why don't you stay with us?”, suggested Penelope. “What do you think, Oz?”.

“All the room in the world”, Oswald said expansively. “We've got four bedrooms in this suite, and so many other rooms we don't know what to do with them. Unless … you'd rather not?”.

“That's very kind of you”, said Howard with relief. “I'd better go to Cavendish Square and get my luggage. Oh, and I nearly forgot – my valet, Brooks. I'm afraid I didn't tell him where I was going this morning”.

“Let me take you in the carriage, Howard”, said Oswald. “I expect Penny would like to get dressed now, and have Lisette in to do her hair and so forth”. He gave his wife a loving kiss over her shoulder.

****************************************

Howard was amused to see that the Ferndean's carriage was bright yellow with red wheels and trappings, pulled by two high-stepping greys.

“Got them from Astley's Circus”, Oswald told him proudly. “If you want horses that make a good show, Astley's is the place. And they're used to crowds and noise. A cannon could go off on Bond Street, and these two wouldn't turn a hair”.

“They're certainly very beautiful horses”, said Howard admiringly.

“Howard, I've never had the opportunity to apologise to you before, but I wanted to say how sorry I am that I took your mother away from you”, said Oswald sincerely. “It was a damnable thing to do to you, and I wish it hadn't had to be that way”.

“I wanted to thank you, actually”, Howard said. “Thank you for taking Mother away from a home and marriage where she was unhappy”.

“Penny will never, never tell you all that your father put her through, Howard”, said Oswald seriously, “but please believe me when I say that she truly suffered, and lived in fear of her very life. I can never understand fellows who marry a happy, lively young girl full of daring, and then do everything they can to crush her spirit and turn her into a shadow of her former self”.

“I think my father must have been mad”, Howard said. “His behaviour cannot be explained any other way”.

“If he was a poor man, he would have been confined in an asylum”, said Oswald sardonically. “But because he was the son of an earl, everyone called him an eccentric and let him do whatever he wanted to Penny”.

“Oswald, would you mind if we stop in Bond Street?”, Howard asked awkwardly. “You see, I told them in Cavendish Square that I was going shopping, and I don't want to lie on top of everything else”.

“I'm sure it will make no difference, but anything to assuage your conscience”, said Oswald easily. “I rather thought of popping into Phillips to buy Penny a little trinket”.

Howard followed his stepfather into the jeweller's, and helped him pick out a pair of diamond and emerald earrings for Penelope. Asking Oswald's permission first, he bought his mother a brooch in the shape of a butterfly, with emeralds for eyes, then bought one or two little things that appealed to him.

At last they reached Cavendish Square, and Howard went in to tell Uncle George and Aunt Caroline of his new address. It is perhaps better if a curtain is drawn over their interview. It was unpleasant. Uncle George called Howard some choice names, of which “thankless viper” was one of the more repeatable, and Aunt Caroline cried, saying that Howard had been bewitched by “that Jezebel”, and was going to have his life ruined, like his father before him.

Howard tried not to argue back or be impolite, and kept repeating how grateful he was to them for their help and kindness, and that he hoped they could forgive him, one day. Then as quickly as possible, he told Brooks to pack everything and get in the waiting carriage.

****************************************

Howard spent a week with his mother and stepfather, getting to know them better, and was able to understand the choices they'd had to make in a terrible situation. He was honest enough to admit that he wouldn't have been able to forgive them until this year, when he'd fallen in love himself, and realised he would do almost anything to be with Vince.

At last the day came that Vince arrived at The Pulteney, and sent his card up. Howard was almost ready to faint, but Oswald stayed with him, and tried to prepare him in case things didn't go well with Vince. He and Brooks helped Howard get dressed into his best clothes and brushed his hair. Oswald gave Howard a beautiful pair of cufflinks with pearl decorations, and Howard hugged him in gratitude.

Penelope was left alone in the saloon to receive Vince, who came in wearing a dark blue velvet coat trimmed with grey chinchilla fur, and his hair, freshly darkened, looking soft and glossy. Penelope noticed that he was thinner than when she first met him, and he had dark circles under his eyes that made her long to pet and pamper him.

“Vince, how good to see you”, she said, opening her arms for Vince to hug her. “And what is that delicious scent you're wearing?”.

“Lily-of-the-valley, by Floris”, Vince smiled. “And what beautiful scent do you always wear, Penelope?”.

“Ah, now that's a state secret”, said Penelope playfully, taking him by the hand to sit on the sofa next to her. “Houbigant makes it for me personally”.

“I didn't know you ever came to London”, Vince said.

“Yes, we come every autumn. Oz has an large estate in Staffordshire that he visits, and I always get my hunting clothes made here. The French don't know how”.

The pair of them chatted for several minutes before Penelope said, “Vince, I'd like you to meet my son”.

“I didn't know you and Oswald had any children”, said a surprised Vince.

“No, he's my son from my first marriage”, said Penelope. She raised her voice slightly. “Darling, come in and meet my friend Vince”.

Howard opened the door and entered the room, his face white, and his little brown eyes darting nervously, too afraid to look at Vince. He had often thought about what Vince might do at this point. Express shock that Howard's mother wasn't dead at all. Demand to know why he had been brought to the Pulteney under false pretences. Denounce Howard as a liar and a fraud, and flounce out of the hotel in a temper.

Vince didn't do any of these things. His face flushed, his eyes became dark and enormous, and then he cried, “Howard!”, in a broken little voice, throwing himself into Howard's arms.

**North side of Cavendish Square, from _Ackermann's Repository_ (1813).**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> off the hooks: out of their mind.
> 
> in a pet: in a temper.
> 
> Howard was born in 1792, and Penelope and Oswald went to live in Venice after that. The Napoleonic Wars began in 1803, forcing them to move to Lisbon, where they stayed until the wars ended in 1815 (marrying after 1814, when Gerald died). For the past three years, they have lived in Paris. 
> 
> It was considered very tacky to exhibit sexual attraction to your spouse in the Regency period. One of Oswald and Penelope's many sins is that even after getting married, Oswald continues to treat his wife more like a mistress. Gerald also seems to have been guilty of this, but he got a free pass because he was clearly off his chump and it probably wouldn't have lasted anyway. You can see that Penelope may not be a great beauty, and hasn't kept her slender figure in middle age, but she has a lot of sex appeal. 
> 
> phaeton: a very sporty self-driven carriage. The equivalent today of buying your wife a luxury sports car. 
> 
> The Pulteney Hotel was at 105 Piccadilly, on the corner of Bolton Street, was one of the most luxurious hotels of the day (the tsar's sister was very impressed that it had flushing toilets). The Caton sisters complained that it was very noisy from all the street sounds, but I think that would be the case for anyone living in the centre of London. It became a private home in 1821, and was pulled down some time after the 1950s. Now numbered 82 Piccadilly, it is a modern office block with a couple of sandwich shops at street level.
> 
> It might seem strange that Howard's mum chooses to meet him in her bedroom while basically wearing a dressing gown, but in the Regency, getting dressed was a lot more public than it is now. You might have your bath in private, then put on a morning dress, which was a loose robe that didn't require a corset. Women might then spend hours doing their hair and beauty routines, or rather, having their maids do their hair and beauty routines, and it was perfectly normal for visitors of both sexes to be permitted into the dressing room of a married woman while she got ready, if they turned up early in the morning, as Howard does.
> 
> St-Cloud is a town in the western suburbs of Paris, but in the 19th century it would have been in the countryside. One of the wealthiest towns in France, it has a long history connecting it with royalty and the nobility. The Ferndowns' chateau is very loosely based on Chateau St-Cloud, country residence of the French royal family for many centuries, which burned down in 1870.
> 
> The Faubourg Saint-Germain is where Bryan de Ferry and the Ferndowns live, in the the 7th arrondissement of Paris on the Left Bank. In the 18th century, the nobility began moving into the area so that it became immediately fashionable. It remains one of the most exclusive districts in Paris.
> 
> Astley's Amphitheatre was opened by Philip Astley in 1773, and this home of the circus was located on Westminster Bridge Road in Lambeth. It remained popular even after Astley's death in 1814 before being demolished in 1893. Horses were central to the circus' success.
> 
> Phillips was a jewellery store on Bond Street during the Regency, patronised by the Prince Regent. Jewellery wasn't all that fashionable during the era, as it was considered poor form to show off your precious gems (Penelope going about dripping in diamonds is another of her crimes against society). Oswald and Howard buy her two pieces from the time that I found. 
> 
> Penelope gets her perfume made by Jean-Francois Houbigant, who founded his perfume house in 1775. Marie-Antoinette, Napoleon, the Tsar of Russia, and Queen Victoria were amongst his clientele. In 1812, he created 'Quelques Fleurs', the first true multifloral scent ever made and which is still sold today.


	19. Selby House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard must face down his old-fashioned grandfather, while still being honest about having Vince in his life. But there's danger even before he gets there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for how long this has taken to update, but to make up for it I'm posting the whole ending at once.

"I missed you so much, Howard", Vince said, his head tucked into Howard's chest.

"I was miserable without you, little man", Howard said, one hand softly stroking Vince's hair. “I thought about travelling to Babylon to distract me from the pain”.

“I considered going back to India”, Vince admitted, “but Naboo and Bollo didn't want to go with me. They like it here”.

“Brooks wasn't keen on the idea either”, Howard said, drawing Vince over so they could sit on the sofa together.

“Don't ever leave again”, Vince said, nuzzling into Howard.

“Don't ever send me away again”, Howard said, risking a hesitant peck near Vince's mouth, which was so gratefully received that he gave another, and then another, until he and Vince's lips were locked together in a deep passionate kiss.

****************************************

There was a loud cough near them, and then Oswald said, “Good to see you again, Vince”.

Howard and Vince let go of each other, and Howard stood up and said, “This is my stepfather, Sir Oswald Ferndown”, and Vince said he remembered him, and then Penelope came back out, saying, “I thought you would enjoy meeting my son”, and smiling at Vince.

“I can't believe you are Howard's mother”, said Vince to Penelope, taking her hand. “You look far too young, for one thing”.

“Flatterer”, said Penelope with mock severity. “Now explain to me, sir, how you sent my son away and broke his heart? Because I can't allow you to do that again. I'm just learning to know Howard, and already I realise he is very sensitive and easily hurt”.

“It broke my heart, too”, Vince said in a low voice. “I hated being apart from him, it kept on hurting, every day. But Lady Augusta said - “.

“That meddler!”, said Penelope, so forcefully that Howard and Oswald stopped talking and listened to the conversation. “What did she tell you?”.

“That … that I was a source of scandal, and that if Howard kept associating with me, his reputation in society would be ruined ”, Vince said with head bent, as if ashamed. “I didn't want Howard to lose his good name or his position in society”.

“I'm afraid I already ruined Howard's position, many years ago”, said Penelope. “He's the son of a woman who was cast out of society”.

“You see, I don't have any reputation to lose”, said Howard encouragingly. “I can see now that the only ladies Lady Augusta could find for me to marry were damaged themselves, or eccentric. And they didn't want me anyway”.

“But Lady Augusta said … that if I didn't stop my association with you, she would write to your grandfather”, Vince said guiltily. “She said he could stop you from inheriting the earldom by an act of parliament”.

To his surprise, the other three roared with laughter.

“That would never happen”, Howard said firmly, putting his arm around Vince. “Put the idea right out of your mind”.

“Augusta took advantage of your unfamiliarity with English laws and customs”, said Penelope kindly. “Such a situation could never arise”.

“It would be far easier for the earl to disinherit Howard by marrying a young lady and fathering a son on her – and that would actually be quite difficult at his age”, Oswald said.

“And Lady Augusta said that even if that didn't happen, Howard's grandfather could refuse to leave him any money. He would be earl, and own the estate, but have no money to keep it”, said Vince, looking hopefully around as if waiting to be told this was a lie too.

“Well, I suppose that's possible”, Howard admitted. “The family lawyers would strongly advise against it, but if he was determined, he could do it”.

“Does that seem likely?”, Oswald asked. “I don't know your grandfather, but you do”.

“Not at all likely, he's very much a stickler for tradition”, said Howard, “but then, I don't know exactly what Lady Augusta plans to tell him”.

“You can share my money, Howard”, said Vince. Penelope joined him, saying, “I've got a little money of my own, Howard, and you are quite welcome to it”, while Oswald said thoughtfully, “I can't leave you my estate, Howard – that's entailed upon my nephew. But I can leave you everything else I own, as long as you take care of your mother”.

“Let not poor Penny starve!”, laughed his wife.

“I'm quite alright”, said Howard. “I have enough for my simple needs, and I can always sell something if I need to”.

That night, Oswald ordered a delicious dinner to be brought up to their suite, which they ate in the dining room. While they were at the fruit and cheese stage, Howard mentioned that both he and Vince had considered travelling to the East to recover from their heartbreaks.

“You know, travel isn't a bad idea”, said Penelope. “Your generation missed having a Grand Tour due to the wars, and Vince was in India. I think you should consider travelling in Europe together”.

“Italy is wonderful in the spring”, Oswald said. “And of course they're a lot more broad-minded on the Continent than in England. Some chaps live in Europe together just for that reason”.

“You're always welcome to stay with us in Paris”, Penelope added.

At the end of the meal, Penelope asked Vince if he needed a bed for the night, as he could share Howard's room.

“No thank you, Penelope. My townhouse is just a few minutes walk away”, said Vince, getting up to leave.

“Ah, I think I'll walk Vince home”, said Howard, following suit. “Er, see you for breakfast, Mother. Oswald”. He kissed his mother goodbye and clasped Oswald's shoulder before he left.

****************************************

Here followed what Howard thought was the most delightful week possible in London. He and Vince were together night and day; seeing the sights, shopping, going for carriage rides in the Park. They often joined the Ferndowns for dinner or the theatre, but were just as happy together. London was quieter and cooler than during the Season, and felt fresher and cleaner. It suited Howard better, and he began to really love the city for the first time.

One evening, he and Vince were walking arm and arm up Piccadilly, on their way to dinner at Le Cube and then to Kirk's. Howard had his face close to Vince's, smiling at some ridiculous joke the younger man had made, when he glanced up and saw Sir Dixon Bainbridge walking the other way, and staring at them. Howard respectfully bowed his head, but Sir Dixon looked at them disdainfully and then sharply looked away again.

“I've been cut by Dixon Bainbridge”, Howard said in amusement, almost to himself.

“Oh. Was he the one who tried to bum you without any oil?”, asked Vince, turning around to look.

“No, that was Horace. He's married, and living a blameless life in the depths of Suffolk”, Howard replied.

“Never mind, Howard. Bainbridge looks like a toplofty windbag”, Vince said comfortingly.

“I'm rather pleased, actually”, Howard said. “He was a crashing bore, and a bully, and now I never have to talk to him again. I'd much rather spend my time with you”.

He quickly placed a kiss on Vince's forehead, and gave his hand a squeeze.

****************************************

One morning Howard came down from the suite, on his way to collect Vince so they could go for a walk in Green Park together, and then escape from the chill with a hot chocolate at one of the houses in St Jame's'. He found Lady Augusta sitting in the vestibule, her back ramrod straight and hands clasped neatly in her lap, although her face was worn and tired. For how many hours had she sat waiting?

“So you continue to defy me”, she said, staring at Howard with cold eyes.

“Lady Augusta”, said Howard, bowing to her politely. “It is such a cold morning. May I escort you home? Or perhaps upstairs for a cup of coffee?”.

“How dare you offer to drag me down with you?”, said Lady Augusta sternly. “Ungrateful wretch! After all I've done for you”.

“My lady, you gave me everything I needed as a child, and I thank you for that”, said Howard sincerely. “But I am a man now, and must make my own decisions”.

“We'll see what your grandfather has to say about that”, said Lady Augusta. “I have written to him, and laid out what kind of a life you are living. Don't think that he will make an exception for you as his grandson. Lord Selby is a proud man, and guards the earldom jealously”.

“Are you sure you won't see Mother, Lady Augusta? You were friends once, and I know Mama will want to thank you herself for taking care of me when I was a boy”.

“As if I would besmirch myself in your mother's filth”, Lady Augusta spat at him. “How can you even call her _mother_ , when I was the one who fulfilled that role in your life?”. For the first time, she looked hurt and angry, instead of just angry.

“My lady, you did not well to conceal from me my mother was alive”, said Howard seriously. “You did wrong to me, and to her. You must understand that I can never abandon my mother, no matter how the world may judge her”.

“You're an obstinate fool, Moon”, said Lady Augusta. “And you don't deserve to bear the name of the great Howard family. Pray, let me pass”.

Howard did so, but he took a footman aside, thrust some money into his hand, and asked him to please find Lady Augusta a hackney and escort her to her brother's home in Cavendish Square.

****************************************

Howard was rather withdrawn on his walk with Vince, but Vince kept up a stream of optimistic chatter that left Howard feeling much more cheerful by the time they went for hot chocolate.

“After all, you don't even know if your grandfather bothered reading Lady Augusta's letter”, Vince said comfortingly. “He might have thrown it out, thinking she was an old nuisance”.

The letter from his grandfather was waiting for Howard when he got back to The Pulteney.

_To Lord Moon_   
_London, November 14 1818_

_Sir,_

_I have received disturbing reports of your behaviour from the Lady Augusta, and trust that you will join me for dinner tomorrow night at Selby House at eight of the clock. Here we may go into such matters together, and you will have a chance to explain yourself._

_Lady Augusta tells me that she introduced you to several eligible ladies during the Season, in view of one of them them becoming your wife. I am impatient to hear which you chose, and to hear more about your plans for marriage. My wish is that you will have settled on a bride before inheriting the earldom._

_I remain yours &etc, your grandfather, Thomas, Lord Selby_

****************************************

“I don't think you should go by yourself, Howard”, Penelope said anxiously.

“It's quite alright, Mother”, Howard said, as Brooks tied his cravat. “I'm a man now, and must face my grandfather alone”. He was dressed correctly for dinner in silk knee breeches and stockings, knowing that it would please his old-fashioned grandfather.

“I wish you would take Vince with you”, urged Penelope. “He is so charming that I feel sure your grandfather would warm to him at once, and that would be the first step towards understanding”.

“I'll talk to him first”, Howard said. “If everything goes well, I'll introduce Vince to him next time”.

“Please let Oswald drive you in the carriage, or hire a chair”, begged Penelope. “It is not safe in London at night, and so dark at this time of year”.

Howard bent down to kiss his mother on the top of her golden-dyed head.

“Mother, you're sweet to worry about me, but I'm a grown man. I've walked around London many times at night”.

“That was in summer, Howard”, said Vince. “Please, let me go with you – for protection, if nothing else”.

“I'll be alright, little man”, said Howard, kissing Vince on the cheek. “There are watchmen and lights, and it's barely ten minutes walk. Grandfather would think I was soft, arriving in a carriage, or taking a chair”.

He left them, only to find that Oswald wanted to talk to him first. It was all very much the same as before, and took at least twenty minutes, so that Howard grew impatient. Lord Selby could be quite irritable if you were late to dinner without sufficient excuse.

****************************************

Howard regretted not taking a chair almost instantly. It was very foggy, and so cold outdoors that it froze the marrow in his bones – his elegant dinner clothes were not very warm. The fog seemed to swallow up noise, for he hurried to cross Piccadilly, just as a hackney appeared in the mist without warning. The wet chill of the fog entered his lungs as he inhaled sharply.

Howard walked up New Moon Street, the few lights so obscured by the murk that their yellow glow hardly seemed to reach any distance. Even the moon was barely visible. As he reached Curzon Street, a link boy in a battered top hat and long coat saluted him.

“Light yer way, sir?”. Howard hesitated, and the boy pressed him. “Please, sir. It's that cold, and I ain't earned enough for me supper yet”.

“Very well, then”, Howard agreed, aware of how much warmer his good top-coat was than the boy's ragged clothing. “To the corner of South Audley Street, please”.

They had only walked about a minute when Howard felt a prickle at the back of his neck.

“It's this way”, said the link boy, raising his light high, and gesturing for Howard to follow.

“I think you may be mistaken”, said Howard nervously. “We have not yet reached South Audley Street”.

“This way's better, guv'nor”, said the link boy. “Over 'ay 'ill, and you'll keep your feet dry”.

Only when he was lit by the flare he carried did Howard notice he wasn't a boy at all. He was quite old – a shame for an old man with long grey hair to be doing this sort of work, Howard thought.

“I think perhaps I will walk the rest of the way by myself. I have heard Hay Hill is an unchancy place this time of night”, said Howard, struggling to keep his voice even, for the old man's appearance had unnerved him. He had been so sure he was a boy – a thin, ragged boy with a shock of fair hair that looked white in the torchlight.

“Nah you don't, squire”, said the old man with a toothy leer. Oh God, was it the fog that made his skin look green? “You ain't going nowhere, me pretty”.

“Do you want money?”, Howard said. “You can have all that I have on me”.

“Money don't interest me none”, said the old man. “What I wants is to cut you, squire. Take a good sturdy knife, and cut you until you squeal”.

“Please don't kill me”, Howard babbled, getting to his knees, and not doing his knee breeches any good in the process. “Please don't kill me, I've got so much to give”.

“Lot of blood to give”, the old man crooned, taking out his knife and running one long green finger down it. “So much sweet young blood to feed the earth”.

The old man casually dropped his torch, the flames from the ground casting a hellish glare upon the bony figure as he raised his knife high.

There came the sound of horse's hooves on the cobblestones, and a phaeton loomed out of the mist, with Penelope driving it while standing up. She looked like an avenging Boadicea, if Boadicea had thought to have her hair and make-up expertly done before sliding on a fur coat to confront the Roman army.

“Leave my son be, you devil!”, shrieked Penelope, as the horses pulled to a stop.

There was the sound of a whip cracking, Howard thought, and then the old man fell face forward and lay still. Penelope put her pistol in her coat pocket, and jumped out of the carriage, grim-faced.

“Didn't I _tell_ you not to go alone?”, she scolded. “Foolish, foolish boy”. And then she burst into tears as she hugged Howard tight around the middle.

“Thank you for rescuing me, Mother”, whispered Howard, stroking her brassy hair. He looked up, and saw there was a young lady in the phaeton's passenger seat. At first he thought it was the maid Lisette, but there was something about the lady's face … and those bright blue eyes …

“Vince?”, he said disbelievingly, but the young lady flirtatiously hid her face behind her fan.

“Howard, get up onto the footman's seat at the back”, Penelope ordered him. “We only have a few minutes”.

Howard looked down for the old man's body, but it was no longer there. Perhaps he had crawled away while they were distracted, or perhaps Penelope had been right, and he really was a devil.

****************************************

“Good evening, Lord Moon. Lord Selby is expecting you”.

“Evening, Frobisher”, said Howard, to his grandfather's stout, white-whiskered, and very correct butler.

Frobisher raised one discreet eyebrow at Vince, who was standing slightly behind Howard.

“My companion, Miss Vincentia Black”, said Howard.

“Indeed, sir”, said Frobisher. “I shall let his lordship know you are here. Both of you”.

They followed Frobisher through the hall and up an elegant double staircase with an iron balustrade until they reached the drawing room, whereupon Frobisher announced them as “Lord Moon. And … “ (a significant pause) “his companion”.

Lord Selby had been pacing in front of the ormolu fireplace while examining his hunter pocket watch, but he turned around at the unexpected announcement, and then his jaw dropped when he saw Vince clad in a dark blue velvet dress trimmed with soft black fur, looking demurely at the toes of his high-heeled blue velvet ankle boots.

“Good God, sir!”, he exclaimed. Howard began to think he'd made a big mistake, when his grandfather continued, “Good God! Who is this devilishly beautiful girl?”.

“This is Miss Vincentia Black, grandfather”, said Howard, drawing Vince forward. “And Miss Black, this is my grandfather, Lord Selby”.

“So glad to meet you, Lord Selby”, said Vince, dipping into a little curtsy.

“Enchanted, Miss Black”, said Lord Selby, kissing Vince's hand respectfully as he bowed. “I shall escort you straight into dinner, as my grandson has made you late”.

“We were waylaid on the road”, Howard objected, as Lord Selby tucked Vince's arm under his own, and led him into the grand dining room.

Vince thought that Lord Selby was a lot like Howard in appearance, but while Howard was gawky and still growing into his height, at fifty years older, his grandfather was falling apart. Tall, broad, and rather heavyset, he was a ruin of the man he had once been, made infirm by a lifetime of riding accidents, with one shoulder stooped lower than the other, and one knee permanently stiff and outstretched. He was old-fashioned enough to still powder his hair, and had an antique gentility that Vince liked. He tried to imagine Howard this old, and found that the idea rather excited him, because Lord Selby retained his handsome features, despite all.

“Now then, you sit next to me, my dear, and Howard shall sit on my other side”, said Lord Selby, as he ushered Vince into a seat and sat down himself. “I'm afraid the doctor has me on a very dull diet for my health, but you two youngsters eat as much as you like”.

“I don't eat much”, Vince smiled. “We'll eat whatever you eat, my lord”.

“I'm sure you eat like a little bird, you're as slender as a willow”, said Lord Selby admiringly. “You make me wish I was twenty years younger, my dear, and then I should cut this young cub out”.

“If I had not met Howard, you wouldn't need to be twenty years younger”, said Vince with a pert little smile.

“You are that dangerous thing, miss, a female wit”, said Lord Selby, as he encouraged them to help themselves to a clear soup.

After the soup they had a glass of white wine, then boiled fish and salad. “So how did you meet Miss Black, Howard?”, his grandfather asked.

“It was during the Season”, Howard said. “I caught a glimpse of a fair face with long dark hair and very bright blue eyes at the Royal Academy”.

“Aha! And straight you thought, _Who is this beautiful girl?_ ”, said Lord Selby delightedly.

“Something like that”, agreed Howard. “And then we saw each other at the Royal Menagerie, but we hadn't been introduced, and then a mutual friend introduced us in Bond Street one morning”.

“One thing you must understand about us Moons, Miss Black, is that we always look for the most beautiful girl in the room, and fall straight in love with her”, Lord Selby warned Vince, just before he took a mouthful of salad with every expression of distaste.

“And one morning I was driving my barouche in the Park when I saw Vince, and we had a carriage ride together, and then went for ices at Gunter's”.

“Oh, sir! You truly are a Moon”, laughed Lord Selby. “Once we see what we want, we strike, and we will not give up until we have it. I met my dear Lettice at a ball – looked around the room, and in one minute had focused on the most lovely creature there. I asked her to marry me during the first dance”.

“Did she say yes?”, asked Vince.

“No, but I wore her down”, answered Lord Selby cheerfully. “I asked her again during the second dance, and then once more during the third. I asked her at supper, and I thought she was starting to weaken, so two days later I went round to her house and asked her father for her hand. Once Papa had agreed, she was quick to say yes, and later admitted she'd done nothing but think about me for those two days”.

“That's so romantic”, said Vince. “You must have been happy together”.

“For thirty years I was the happiest man in the world”, sighed Lord Selby. “But then trouble came to our family, and it was such a shock to my dear Lettice that her heart gave out. I think she truthfully died of a broken heart”.

Howard coughed. “By the way, Grandfather. I have met my mother in London, and intend to keep in contact with her when she returns to her home in Paris”.

Lord Selby gave him an interested look. “I'm glad you were able to see Penelope again, Howard. I always thought it was a bad business, keeping you away from her all these years, and I think a gentleman will stand by his own mother, no matter what. Do you know of this terrible scandal, Miss Black?”.

Vince allowed that he did know, had met Lady Ferndown, and liked her very much.

“You're a sensible girl, Miss Black”, commented Lord Selby. “I never did approve of Gerald marrying Penelope. You can beat a horse that refuses a fence, and it might even jump out of fear, but eventually that horse will bolt on you, and Penelope bolted. It was Lettice who wanted the marriage to save Gerald's life, but I can truthfully say that her errors were all made in love, and she paid bitterly for them”.

During dessert, which was an apple jelly followed by nuts and dried fruit, Lord Selby said, “I've had a letter from your godmother, Howard, and can't make head or tail of what Augusta was driving at. Can you elucidate at all?”. He gave Howard a sharp-eyed look.

“Well, sir”, began Howard, taking a gulp of port for fortitude, “I think that Lady Augusta was an excellent godmother for me when I was a young boy, but she doesn't understand men very well”.

“I should say not”, Lord Selby said waspishly. “An antidote of the first order, and an ape-leader from way back. So what have you done to upset Augusta?”.

“Lady Augusta doesn't approve of me”, said Vince.

“Oh, and why not?”, enquired Lord Selby, cocking his head to one side.

“She doesn't think Vince is a suitable companion”, said Howard, a trifle nervously. “I don't think she believes Vince is quite the thing”.

“Well, who are your people?”, asked Lord Selby, looking at Vince.

“My father was a soldier, my lord, and my mother was but a simple governess”.

“So your father was brave, and your mother well-educated”, commented Lord Selby. “And my great-grandmother was a dairymaid, so the family legend goes”.

Howard snorted. “Which probably means her father owned more cattle than anyone else”.

“My mother always said that a prospective bride needs breeding, beauty, and brains”, mused Lord Selby. “But I say a woman only needs beauty, because without that, nobody cares how noble and clever she is”.

****************************************

At the end of dinner, Lord Selby explained that he had some important business to discuss with Howard in the library, and apologised to Vince for leaving him alone in the drawing room. Asked whether he'd like a book to read, Vince said he wasn't much of a reader, but would love to wander about and see the beautiful artwork at Selby House, to which Lord Selby graciously consented.

“I won't beat around the bush, Howard”, said Lord Selby seriously, once they were alone. “The doctors have said I don't have much longer. I know they've been prophesying my decease for some years now, but this time, I really think they mean it”.

“How long, sir?”, asked Howard.

“Maybe before Christmas, maybe in the New Year”, said Lord Selby. “If I'm lucky, maybe after Easter. My liver's not going to last forever, and that old hunting injury bothers me more and more every winter”.

“I'm sorry to hear that, Grandfather”, said Howard. “Can nothing be done?”.

“I think they've done all they can”, Lord Selby said. “The point is, you'll soon be the Earl of Selby, and must begin considering your future. You'll inherit Castle Selby, and I'm sorry for leaving you a gloomy pile of old stones that needs so much upkeep”.

“I have so many memories of being there as a boy”, said Howard, wiping away a tear.

“The thing is Howard, I'd very much like to see you settled before you become earl”, Lord Selby said. “You have your heart set on the lovely Miss Black?”.

“Yes, Grandfather. I do”, said Howard firmly. “Although my godmother does not approve at all”.

“Never mind about that”, said Lord Selby, waving his hand. “If you love her, and she returns your love, then I won't stand in your way. There's been far too much meddling in other people's marriages in our family, and the results have been disastrous”.

“Thank you, Grandfather”, said Howard softly.

“I'd love to see you married before I die”, Lord Selby said wistfully. “If you wait until I'm gone, there'll be a mourning period to get through, and I don't want that to happen”.

“Vince's situation is … complicated”, said Howard. “It's hard to explain, but we can't rush into marriage”.

“Then, would you both come to spend Christmas with me at Castle Selby?”, asked Lord Selby. “It's my last Christmas, and I'll need to discuss the running of the estate with you”.

And Howard promised they would both be there.

****************************************

“That went rather well”, said Howard, as they walked up the front steps of Vince's townhouse. Lord Selby had sent them home in his carriage, and they had let Penelope and Oswald know everything was alright before they walked the short distance from the hotel to Vince's house.

“Yes, I think your grandfather quite likes me”, said Vince, with a flirtatious little twirl up the steps.

“The old goat would have been rutting you if we'd stayed five minutes longer”, said Howard, half-proud, half-jealous.

“Wouldn't have minded”, giggled Vince as he unlocked the front door with a huge key. “Your grandfather is such a sweetheart”.

“Naboo not in?”, Howard asked casually, looking around the hallway at the brightly coloured artwork, which had once seemed sinister, and now beautifully familiar, products of his lover's extraordinary imagination.

“No, he and Bollo have got shaman business”, said Vince, even more casually. Howard didn't know what that meant, and he suspected Vince didn't know either, so he never pushed it.

“Wonderful”, breathed Howard, as he ran his fingers down Vince's jawline, and kissed him.

“Guess what?”, Vince whispered into Howard's ear, before kissing it. “I've got some olive oil”.

“Really? Where from?”. A touch of excitement in his voice.

“Bought it from Fortnum & Mason”, said Vince with a gasping laugh. “Race you upstairs?”.

“I won't have any energy left”, Howard complained, but nonetheless he was so eager he ran upstairs to Vince's bedroom, and got there just a moment after Vince, who had been hampered by his long dress.

Vince gave Howard a look as he primly took off his coat, hat and gloves, and tidied his hair. He was so like a young lady getting in from a dinner party that Howard felt bashful, until Vince took his hand and brought him to the bed. Howard sat gingerly on the end of the bed as if unsure how to proceed.

“Grandpa wants us to get married”, Howard said.

“Even though I'm a poor orphan girl?”, Vince said in surprise. “He's not very particular”.

“He just wants me to be happy”, Howard said. “He wants the wedding to be before Christmas”.

“I don't think that can happen”, said Vince, looking down shyly.

“You know I would have loved to marry you, if it were possible”, said Howard gently, holding Vince's sturdy little hands in his own large ones. “I love you, Vince. I don't believe I was fully alive until I met you, and all I can ask is … please be mine. In whatever way you can”.

“I love you too, Howard”, said Vince eagerly, “and I want to belong to you. Kiss me?”.

Howard angled his head to meet Vince's lips, and kissed him softly, as befitted a lady. But Vince kissed deeply, passionately, tugging Howard down on the bed as he ran his hands down his back and pulled his arse in towards his own body. Howard was lost in an intoxicating cloud of scent, pomade, velvet, and fur, of open-mouthed wet kisses, of feeling his own stiff length against Vince's answering hardness.

“What do you want, Vince?”, Howard groaned.

“I want you undressed”, said Vince, with a lascivious smile. “I want to see all of you”.

And he pulled off Howard's cravat, while Howard stood to take off his coat, his waistcoat, and then his silk knee breeches. He released his cock from their confines, then stroked himself, watching Vince to see his reaction. Satisfied with his worshipful gaze and rasping breath, he tore off his linen shirt, and dropped it on the floor before removing his shoes and stockings. It was always warm in Vince's townhouse, like a summer's day, and Howard luxuriated in being naked there.

“Come here”, Vince ordered, as his hands were all over Howard's body. “Let me touch you, everywhere. Oh, you have such beautiful paps. So pink and rosy”. And his tongue lapped at Howard's nipples before slithering down lower, and lower still.

“Shameless little rogue”, said Howard, his hand unconsciously moving to hold himself for Vince's mouth. “Oh God, I want you”.

“I'm not a rogue, I'm a lady”, insisted Vince, pushing forward the modest cleavage created by the corset he was wearing beneath his dress.

“Then ride me, lady”, begged Howard, and in the fullness of time, Vince hiked up his blue velvet skirts up and did as Howard asked. And Howard kept saying he was beautiful, he was perfect, he was lovely, because Vince was giving Howard what he most needed, and what no other pretty girl ever would.

**Chesterfield House 1760, from Walford's _Old and New London_ (1867)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let not poor Penny starve: When King Charles II was dying, he pleaded, “Let not poor Nellie starve”. The actress Nell Gwyn was one of his favourite mistresses. (She didn't starve – the king left her very comfortably off - but she died of syphilis only two years later).
> 
> The Grand Tour was something all upper-class young men were supposed to do in the 18th century – spend two or even several years travelling around the Continent, often with an old tutor as chaperon, in order to become fully educated and well-rounded men of the world. For men of Howard's age, they missed out on this due to the Napoleonic Wars making most of Europe a no-go zone. The more determined headed to Spain, Greece and the Levant, like Lord Byron. I think Howard would have missed out anyway, due to his father's early death.
> 
> In many countries on the continent, it was legal or at least not criminal for men to have sexual relations with other men, unlike England during the Regency. There were quite a few cases of Englishmen settling abroad for this reason, often in couples. It seems to have been one of the main reasons Lord Byron travelled abroad, and according to his private letters, he indulged in it to the point of getting (temporarily) bored with it.
> 
> toplofty windbag: stuck up blatherer.
> 
> St James's was famous for its chocolate houses and coffee houses. These were places of masculine social gatherings, and at this time, chocolate was considered an extremely butch drink. It was much more bitter and spicy than modern hot chocolate.
> 
> Selby House is based on Chesterfield House, owned by the Earls of Chesterfield, located on Curzon Street between South Audley Street and what is now Chesterfield Street. It was an enormous mansion set in its own private gardens, and built between 1742 and 1752. It was considered one of the grandest and most impressive houses in London, as a hint of just how wealthy the Earls of Selby are. The house was demolished in 1937 and replaced by a block of flats. As the Earl of Selby, Howard's grandfather is known as Lord Selby, and this will be Howard's surname when he inherits.
> 
> chair: a sedan chair, basically a little box with a seat in it which could be carried on long poles. A common mode of transportation for the nobility since the 17th century, and still useful in Regency London for travelling short distances while keeping your shoes and clothes clean. It was safer than walking at night as each one was accompanied by a link-boy to carry a guiding light. 
> 
> lights: London did have streetlights, lit by gas, but the light was very dim and didn't travel very far. On a foggy night, they weren't very useful at all. Only posh areas had streetlights at all, so the poor areas of London remained dark and very dangerous at night for some time. 
> 
> Boadicea: Bouddica, the British queen who fought the Roman army when they refused to acknowledge her right to rule after her husband, who had been an ally of the Romans. She had a large army, and burned London, almost convincing the Romans to abandon their plans of taking Britain. However, in the end she was defeated, possibly taking her own life to avoid capture. There is a statue in her honour at King's Cross.
> 
> ormolu: decorative gilded bronze, very popular in the 18th century. Due to the mercury used in the process, it killed the people who did the work very quickly, and was eventually outlawed.
> 
> “a female wit”: Lord Byron said of Lady Hester Stanhope that she was “that dangerous thing, a female wit”.
> 
> antidote: a pain in the backside, as unpleasant as medicine, what in the mid-20th century would have been called “a pill”.
> 
> ape-leader: a spinster. A horrible proverb said that old maids would have to lead apes into hell as their punishment for remaining “unproductive” during their lifetime. The idea was that they had disobeyed God's first commandment, which was to go forth and multiply. There doesn't seem to any such punishment for bachelors, who also didn't multiply, but they weren't viewed favourably either, and were taxed at a higher rate. Despite this, one-quarter of both sexes remained single during the Regency. 
> 
> liver: my head canon is that Lord Selby's liver was damaged by syphilis. He was widowed fairly young, only in his fifties, and never remarried, so chances are he would have slept with prostitutes when in London. The treatment for syphilis then was mercury … which further damages the liver. It had long been understood that fatty foods and alcohol put a strain on the liver, hence Lord Selby's diet (he still drinks, but probably far less than previously). No doubt he has numerous other health complaints, including long-standing riding injuries. 
> 
> olive oil: used as a lube since classical times, and still sold as such. Not to be used with latex condoms, as it destroys them, and can be quite messy.


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story ends one year after it began, with all the changes that have happened, and the traditional happy ending.

It was beautiful morning in late May, and Howard and Vince were sitting on the jasmine-covered terrace of their villa in San Francesco d'Albaro, having breakfast. They had earlier been for a walk down to the beach, where Vince could already speak fluently, if not always accurately, to the local fishermen. Howard applied himself to his phrase book, and was able to say a few words in Italian with a very strong English accent, and a slight tendency to unconsciously raise his voice at people. He was very proud of the anchovies he had managed to buy, and bring back for the midday meal.

Now they looked at the view over the vineyards and olive groves – one way, you could look down to the sea; in the other direction were the hills surrounding the summer resort. They drank coffee, and ate hot bread rolls, and fresh oranges. Howard read the English papers, while Vince sketched the scenery in front of them. The scents of lilac and mimosa were in the air from the villa's garden, which was filled with borders of pinks, and brick walls covered in blankets of white climbing roses.

***************************************

They had spent Christmas at Castle Selby, Vince for once struck almost silent by the great house's magnificence and the fairy tale loveliness of its formal gardens and hedge mazes in the snow. The castle itself, a gloomy old pile of medieval stones covered in moss, was some miles distance, and almost never visited except as a curiosity.

“I'm sorry it's so cold in here”, Howard apologised to Vince as they stood as close to the fireplace as possible. “The heating has always been terrible”.

“It needs that German heating system Naboo put in the townhouse”, Vince said, snuggling into the long fur coat he had on over his pale blue merino travelling dress. “We thought we'd die of the cold in England after living in India, but once those stoves were installed, it was lovely”.

“You're lovely”, whispered Howard, as he surreptitiously kissed Vince's frozen nose tip.

Lord Selby's health had declined rapidly in the six weeks since they had last seen him, and he was now very frail. He spent most of the day dozing in a large leather armchair in the library, and was pushed in an ancient Bath chair by Frobisher whenever he needed to move from one place to another.

Howard and Vince were able to take over many of the duties caring for Lord Selby, with Vince in particular proving a caring and patient nurse who was happy to sit all day with Lord Selby, holding his hand as he slept, or chatting to him whenever he woke up.

It was while they were together in the library that Lord Selby had said, “Got something for you. You're a good girl, very sweet. Pretty, too. Want you to have it”.

He fumbled amongst a pile of boxes on the table next to him, eventually selecting a gorgeous diamond and sapphire necklace. He helped Vince put it on, saying, “Been in our family for generations. Must be … oh, nearly a century old now. Hope it's not too old-fashioned for you”.

“Tom, it's beautiful”, said Vince. “You're so kind. But I can't accept this. It's a family heirloom”.

Lord Selby said, “Traditionally, it's given to the eldest daughter of the family. But I had no daughters, and neither did my son. I want you to have it, Vince dear. It matches your eyes”.

Vince sat with his head bowed, one hand nervously playing with the heavy pendant of the necklace.

“My lord, I can't deceive you. I'm not a girl. I'm a … a boy”. The word _man_ sounded ridiculous, he thought, and besides, Vince had never really felt as if he was a man.

“I wonder if that would have bothered me once?”, Lord Selby said. “I don't know, but here at the end, it doesn't change what I think of you. You're beautiful, and kind, and you make Howard happy. I want you to have the necklace, my dear”.

And Vince had gently kissed old Tom's cheek, overwhelmed at the gift he had been given, of far more value than the necklace, which was worth tens of thousands.

****************************************

In the end, the earl was taken by grippe in the new year. He went quickly, so that on the Friday, Howard noticed with uneasiness that his grandfather seemed to be getting a cold. He had been doing better, appeared brighter and more cheerful than he had for some time, but Howard thought his breathing now seemed slightly laboured.

On the Saturday, the doctor had been called, just in time to tell them to say their goodbyes, and the old earl died two hours later. He had been quite delirious at the very end, and thought Howard was Gerald, while he addressed Vince as his darling Lettice.

The rest had been a blur for Howard, writing letters edged in black, having to give orders to Frobisher, who was now his butler, organising a funeral, and endless meetings with lawyers that involved signing document after document. He could barely get used to being the earl, and jumped every time he was addressed as Selby.

The funeral was held at Selby Abbey, that great church which had been built by Ilbert Moon some three years after the Norman Conquest, and whose churchyard was the final resting place of all the Moon family.

“Lady Augusta, thank you for coming”, Howard said to his godmother, who had arrived for the funeral all in black.

“Of course I came, I had great respect for the _old_ earl”, Lady Augusta sniffed.

“I'm still only learning to be an earl”, Howard said awkwardly. “I suppose you think me a bit of a failure at it already”.

“Howard, my job in life was to guide you, as a boy and as a man, until you gained the noble title you were born for”, said Lady Augusta imperiously. “My task is done now, and you may make your own decisions, and your own mistakes. It is not for me to judge you – a greater One than I shall do that”.

“Cannot we still be friends?”, asked Howard sadly. “I have already lost my father and grandfather – must I lose my godmother too?”.

“Don't be ridiculous, Howard. Of course we are still friends”, said Lady Augusta briskly. And she came over to speak to Vince, and was quite gracious, if rather stiff. But nothing would induce her to reconcile with Penelope – her mind was quite made up on that point.

The winter was taken up with Howard settling into his role of earl, learning to manage his new estate, and his vast fortune. Naboo and Bollo were able to put the new heating system in, making Castle Selby far more bearable in winter, while Vince had some wonderful ideas for redecorating some of the rooms which had grown tatty over the last twenty years or so.

They spent Easter with Penelope and Oswald in Paris, enjoying the cathedral bells, flower markets, fun fairs, and processions going to church – even Vince got his fill of sweetmeats and gingerbread. Afterwards they had two weeks at St-Cloud, and on some days it was already warm enough to sit in the pavilion together, looking across the Seine.

It was on one such afternoon that Howard shyly gave Vince a present that he had bought months previously in London, and Vince said he was floating on air, like the happiest boy/girl in the world. He couldn't stop admiring the gold ring on his finger, and holding it up to the light to see the sparkle of the little diamonds surrounding it.

****************************************

From France, they had travelled through Italy, settling in the first beautiful village they came to in the Kingdom of Sardinia, and charmed by the villa they were renting. Howard could hardly believe how his life had changed in just twelve months.

“What do you want to do this morning, Howard?”, Vince asked as they finished breakfast.

“Oh, I've got some boring letters to write. Sorry, little man”, Howard said with genuine regret.

“That's alright. I'll go shopping in Genoa with Naboo and Bollo”, Vince said cheerfully.

“Take Brooks, will you? He's hardly got to do anything since we came here”, said Howard, to which Vince readily agreed.

“We could go to Sturla in the afternoon, just us, and go swimming”, Vince suggested, and Howard said that would be lovely.

“I shall meet with you here for _seconda collazione_ ”, Howard said. “I'll ask the cook to make anchovies with fried potato”.

“They use a lot of olive oil here”, said Vince suggestively, to which Howard responded by pulling Vince away from the terrace, into the villa, so that he could kiss him in privacy.

“We might use some tonight?”, Howard asked hopefully, smiling when Vince nodded, and gave a smirk as Howard held him close.

Howard fervently kissed the gold ring on Vince's finger, then his mouth was on Vince's full lips. He moaned into Vince's mouth as he began undoing his buttons with haste, his fingers fumbling over it, as Vince pushed his body closer and closer into Howard's.

The letters could wait. Shopping could wait. Swimming could wait. Howard needed Vince in his bed and in his arms and in his heart – now, and forever.

**Painting of Genoa by William Parrott, circa 1845**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> San Francesco d'Albaro was at this time a village 2 miles from Genoa, used as a summer holiday resort by the upper classes. Today it is named Albaro, and is an upmarket suburb of Genoa. Lord Byron stayed here in 1822-23. There is a fisherman's village included as a hamlet of Albaro in the small cove. The historic villas surrounded by private parks and gardens, have now usually been divided into apartments, or are used as public buildings. The beaches are small and stony, and in this era would have been accessible only by steep, narrow donkey tracks. (I have slightly based Howard and Vince's villa on the castle in “The Enchanted April”, which is a real one, and located in nearby Portofino).
> 
> People in Genoa speak a dialect of the Ligurian language, but I think Howard would have been able to get by with an Italian phrase book and some determination. Vince is definitely speaking Ligurian with the natives by listening to them, and getting on much better.
> 
> Castle Selby is based on Harewood House near Leeds, and Castle Howard in North Yorkshire. There was a Selby Castle shortly after the Norman Conquest, but it was probably wooden, and didn't last very long. It was by the river in Selby, and the site today is a food factory. The fictional stately home Castle Selby seems to be quite a way from the (also fictional) medieval castle.
> 
> Vince's townhouse seems to have some form of central heating, used since the Middle Ages in Alpine and Central Europe and spread by monks, but much slower to catch on in the UK, which has a milder climate and fewer monks. English people who travelled abroad were often impressed with the concept of staying warm all winter, and the idea took hold in the 19th century. Vince and Howard are just a tiny bit ahead of their time.
> 
> A Bath chair is a wheeled chair for invalids – what people used before wheelchairs, and dating to around 1750. Lord Selby's might be more than sixty years old.
> 
> If the necklace is usually given to the eldest daughter, I can only think Lord Selby's was inherited from his mother, who must have been the eldest daughter in her family. Unless it was a childless aunt?
> 
> grippe: influenza.
> 
> Selby Abbey was founded in 1069 and built by the de Lacy family, one of whom was named Ilbert. It's very close to where Selby Castle would have been. 
> 
> In 1815, Genoa became part of the Kingdom of Sardinia. It was previously The Republic of Genoa.
> 
> Sturla is another area of Genoa right near Albaro. It began life as a fishing village on a beautiful beach.
> 
> seconda collazione: literally “second breakfast”, the old Italian word for the midday meal.


End file.
